1 Year
by DivineMissP
Summary: 1 year. 365 days. On the one hand it felt like only yesterday, on the other, like another lifetime ago. The past, the present, and the future (with a little smut thrown in for good measure).
1. Chapter 1

_So this was originally supposed to be a short foreword to a Jack/Phryne romance that has been rattling around in my brain. However once started it took on a life of its own. I'm still hoping to find a way to continue the rest as additional chapters, but you'll have to bear with me. Hence it's currently Jack with a hint of Phryne. Hope you enjoy :)_

xoxox

1 year. 365 days. On the one hand it felt like only yesterday, on the other, like another lifetime ago.

As it was, he hadn't been in the best of moods that day, and when the Andrews' bathroom door had lazily swung open at his terse insistence, he had been less than impressed to be confronted by this (beautiful) nosy woman who had bamboozled his Constable (not exactly a feat, he had to admit), and was now doing...what exactly?... in his crime scene.

However, it had made for an amusing anecdote to fill the void in conversation when George Sanderson had left his dinner to take an urgent telephone call. Even then, he had wondered if it wouldn't be better for everyone involved if they put a stop to the charade of fortnightly 'family' dinners; it had been quite some time since he and Rosie had lived under the same roof, and with 'shop talk' out of the way they had very little to say to each other, kind or otherwise. Her sister would usually obligingly step in with another story about one or more of her 'little darlings', which only served to make things even worse with Rosie (a more cynical man might have thought that that was the intended effect). The way these dinner conversations set his teeth on edge had him thinking that the experience was rather like being forced to listen to a rake being dragged across a piece of iron sheeting.

Of course they had never planned on not having children. When they had married he had, in his youthful naivety, believed that no two people could love one another as he and Rosie did, and that he would no doubt die a happy elderly man, leaving a wife and children and grandchildren.

Then the war had come. At that stage they could not have forseen the devastating effect it would have on their lives. There had been other wars, and he supposed there would always be another, but they were so far removed from the lives of the people they knew that it seemed it would simply be an inconvience, a mere step off the path of their life together, and not the road in a completely different direction that it had turned out to be.

When the time came for him to board the ship that would take him to exotic foreign shores Rosie had been disappointed that they had not yet conceived. After all, several of her friends were either expecting or had a chiId at the hip, and her sister had made a happy announcement only a few weeks prior. However, they had really not been married all that long, and Jack mused that the making of babies seemed somewhat akin to a raffle - the more you put in the greater your chances; a thought to keep him warm during his deployment...and as the two of them clung to each other on the wharf, they truly believed that within a few years they would be looking back on this setback as doting parents to one or more children.

As the years stretched out they still maintained that their own piece of paradise was waiting just around the corner. Jack knew he had been affected by the terrible things he had seen and done, but he, as did his companions, felt that all that could be somehow put aside when they all returned to their normal lives someday. So his letters to her were filled with descriptions of the people and places he had seen, a kindness bestowed upon him by a stranger, Percy's minor infatuation with a French girl he had glimpsed only twice hanging washing...he would never write to her of the horrors he faced daily; partly because he thought it best that she didn't know, but more because he felt that she couldn't possibly understand.

And he had been right. Upon his return, at first things had been awkward, but they had both expected a little of that after such a long physical separation, and they muddled their way through as best they could. After all, they were by no means the only ones experiencing such readjustment. To make matters worse , when everyone had finally realised how long the war might drag on, the Sandersons had taken their daughter back under their roof rather than leave her alone in the small house Jack had rented (subsidised by George) as a temporary measure until he received a promotion and increase in pay.

Now that he was home, and once again an officer in the Victorian Constabulary, he was absolutely determined to use every penny he had earned and saved during the war to secure a mortgage on a home of their own. However, Rosie's father had risen through the ranks in Jack's absence, and his daughters had wanted for nothing during the wartime downturn. Jack had found Rosie unrealistic in her needs (wants) when it came to her accommodations, and was grudgingly pushed into accepting further financial support from George. However, Jack was nothing if not a hard worker, and such an obstacle to his own peace of mind was worth the luxury of removing himself and his wife from her parents' constant observation. So they had settled in and carried on with life, but the cracks were there, and always growing wider.

Jack was now under no illusion that whilst he had been deeply and profoundly affected by his experiences, and was now an utterly different man, Rosie had changed very little. The inane chatter that he had once found charming now grated on him, the little digs she made about his career had once been an incentive to build upon their life, but he now regarded them as an intrusion into his personal space. He worked damned hard for what they had, but it never seemed to be quite enough for her. She was pleased with every promotion but it was never in the direction that she wanted for him - some politically-motivated position pushing pens like her father. Jack knew that after living cheek-by-jowl in the trenches he needed the light and air to maintain his sanity, so a desk job was out of the question as a long-term proposition. He hadn't been at all surprised by Rosie's outburst when he had accepted a transfer from fraud into homicide.

Then, there was the physical aspect of their relationship. They were both still keen to start a family; Rosie because it was all she ever wanted and expected of her life, and Jack more so now because he hoped it would help him overcome the monumental weight that had settled upon him and refused to budge. Perhaps it might also give them something to talk about for the rest of their lives other than the price of tea, and what type of cake she ought to bake to take to visit his mother tomorrow.

They had both expected that their initial reticence around each other would pass once they were in their own home, but it had only been replaced by a sort of awkward routine. Their intimacy was not what it once was, and where Jack had expected to find not only pleasure, but comfort, he now found he was left frustrated and longing. The only response he seemed able to elicit from Rosie now was one of dutiful willingness. Jack was not a man to force a woman, nor one to receive a pleasure that wasn't shared. Things had not improved when he had moved his bed out of their room and into the sleepout - the nightmares had been getting worse lately and Rosie had pointed out to him that her sleep was already disturbed by his shift work, and she was almost at her wits' end.

Nonetheless, he had firmly believed that if their life together was not all that they had planned, that it could still be one in which they were happy together. He blamed himself almost entirely for their situation, and resolved to make it right. He was well aware that he could be moody and withdrawn at times. Early on, some of the language he had picked up in the trenches had shocked her (as well as his family), and he had been prone to sudden outbursts of anger. And although he would never raise a hand to Rosie, he knew that she was both disturbed and a little afraid when she saw that glazed look in his eyes. But he had worked hard to moderate his behaviour over the years, and if there were times that he wasn't a perfect gentleman, well they were reserved for his 'customers', or the boxing bags in the Police Association clubrooms.

Perhaps he wasn't the coltish larrikin she had married, but that didn't mean that he had to be a husband she might regret. Career choices aside, there was nothing Rosie asked for that wasn't given or done. He thought himself doing very well when he had arrived home unexpectedly one day, and entered via his kitchen door to overhear Rosie extolling his virtues to an old school friend. She was practically gushing - Jack was kind, respectful, generous, took an interest in everything she did; she was lucky to have him. He had quietly seen himself out again happy in the knowledge that things were finally looking up. And when he had pressed an unusually affectionate kiss to her cheek that night, her eyes had told him, perhaps with a little surprise, that she truly believed what he had heard her say. Yes, everything was going to work out...

Until that night. The night he avoided thinking of, and desperately wished he could just forget. The night of the day when two of their widowed friends had announced, to everyone's astonishment, that they were to be married. There had been drinks all round, and a small group had sat and drank and reminisced until well after the long hot day had turned to cool dark night.

The two of them had staggered home, their arms entwined around each other waists, a song from their courting days upon Jack's lips. As they had laughed out loud at a miss-step taken into the guttering they had been transported back to a time when it was nothing short of a joy to be in one another's company. The kissing had started somewhere between the last street corner and their front gate, and they had both been impatient to reach the privacy of their own home; if only one of them could actually manage to get the front door open!

Her hands were on his bare skin, and she had moaned impatiently into his mouth as his clumsy fingers struggled with the tiny buttons at the front of her dress. He had finally made some headway and they had both tumbled breathlessly onto her bed, when the mood had suddenly changed. She had pushed both hands against his chest "Jack, wait..." He had stilled, and not really understanding that there was a problem had tried a gentle kiss to her lips, only to have her turn her face away from his and squirm beneath his weight. "Jack, we can't...I don't..." and finally a pleading "please Jack..." as she had shoved him forcibly off her. He was confused...what had happened?...and more than a little frustrated, but from the way she had drawn the covers over her and turned to face the wall he knew that she would give him no answers that night.

Nor at any other time apparently. He had tried to gently broach the issue at breakfast, but had been rather coldly rebuffed. He thought perhaps she just needed a little time, so he didn't push the issue. For a few days she had avoided him as thoroughly as a woman could avoid the man she shared a house with; then came the revelation, couched in a conversation about the stir his new superior was causing down at the station. Perhaps they ought to put off any thoughts of starting a family until the dust had settled? Jack would be needed at the station...the long days and nights were already a drain on him...and it never hurts to impress a senior officer...they had plenty of time...

So. She was lucky to have him as a husband, but she had decided that she no longer wanted to have his children? She didn't say as much, but somehow he knew that the subject would never be raised under his roof again. It was a terrible blow that had shocked him to his core, and not just because of his hopes regarding offspring. He may have returned from the trenches feeling as old as the hills, but he still considered himself a youngish man, and the prospect of spending the remaining nights of his life in a cold bed had filled him with a kind of despair. For he was not the type to be unfaithful to his wife, no matter their circumstances, and both his morals and profession (as far as he was concerned anyway) barred him from those establishments on Little Lonsdale that usually catered to such needs - and besides, just the thought turned his stomach.

The entire episode had left him feeling hurt and angry...this was not the type of thing that a man could confide to a mate, and so for a long time the feelings had festered within him; another wound to add to his battered soul.

Back then he had wondered how he would manage to pass the long years ahead without a woman's touch, but to his surprise, in time he found that he had simply lost interest. He sometimes wondered how Rosie explained their empty nest to her family, friends, even strangers. But then he supposed that she probably gave the impression that he was one of those men that was becoming increasingly talked of - wounded not in the body, but in the mind - unable to reproduce nonetheless. As he couldn't say for certain that it wasn't true, he found he didn't care.

Days, months, years passed unremarkably. She had reconciled herself to a life without the patter of tiny feet, and took his arm graciously at the Police Ball. He had contented himself that she would never come to appreciate his Shakespeare, and he was always there to greet her at the tram stop. And this is how they had lived on in their perfectly civilised bubble of resentment. Somewhere along the line she had gone alone on holiday with her sister and her family. When her mother had died she had gone to stay with George for a few weeks while he processed her mother's absence from his life - perfectly understandable. And he had still come home to find his shirts neatly pressed and a prepared meal waiting covered in his kitchen. Truth be told it was a relief to both of them to have the time apart.

When her sister's fourth child had arrived he had not even blinked when she suggested that she might spend some time supporting her; far fewer meals for Jack and he would have to send out his laundry; a few weeks at most...which became a few months...which became indefinite. And he was indifferent. For the most part anyway.

Divorce had, of course, flickered through his consciousness, only to be dismissed as nonsense - he doubted that Rosie would accept such a thing, and even if she did, how would it reflect on each of them, his career, their families and friends. Marriage was a bond to be broken not by a judge, but by death.

Jack was not a man to wallow in misery, or to even contemplate something like suicide. But sometimes as he nursed a warm whiskey in his unlit parlour, in his empty-feeling house, dark thoughts would play on his mind. He was an utter failure as a man, as a husband, and in Rosie's eyes at least, also as a policeman. And as a son. Because it was not just Rosie who had lost Jack the almost-boy and received a shell of a man in return. He sometimes turned to find his father gazing at him in a sad and knowing way; they would each give the slightest nod of their heads in acknowledgement, and the moment would pass. But he did feel that he was depriving his family of the real Jack, who had been lost somewhere out there on the Somme, as surely as his mates Harry and Cyril and Tom and Eddie whose bodies would forever remain in those foreign fields.

366 days ago he had sat in his darkness and been struck by how much less complicated everyone's life would have been if he had never returned.

365 days ago she had appeared out of nowhere and let in a chink of light, and although it had taken him some time to become accustomed to it, soon enough it was all he could do to stop himself craving her sunshine on his face.

xoxox

Hopefully tbc :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews, which are always an incentive to keep at it. Firebird9, re the police departments I'm not sure that they existed then either, but although the TV series is completely AU to the books, that is one aspect of Jack's character that I borrowed from Kerry Greenwood (I'm still trying to remember exactly which book it was that referred to his time in Fraud Squad). I've always felt that Jack has a bit more breadth of police career behind him than beat-cop-slowly-morphs-into-homicide-detective, and I wasn't quite sure how else to express that in limited form. Hope that explains :) Also, I'm pretty sure now that this story is going to be 99% Jack and his POV. Thanks for reading everyone! PS keep hanging in there for the romance..._

xoxox

Chapter 2

xoxox

1 year. He couldn't believe how much had changed in that time. Phryne's effect on his life had been something akin to a cyclone - she had come tearing in and disrupted everything, and nothing was as it once was. At first he had resented her interference in his nicely ordered world; the way she swanned in and just assumed that he would comply with her wishes, the way she managed to mine information from his junior officers, the evidence that somehow seemed to wind up in her handbag (or her decolletage for that matter).It riled him that this wealthy woman seemingly had nothing better to do with her time than move in on a profession he had trained long and hard at. As a hobby. 'Lady Detective' - it was ridiculous! Jack was not a man who believed, as many men did, that women were only good for one thing. However, he had firmly believed that men and women each had their roles in life, and that there were some things that should remain the province of the male of the species. So he had been in for a rude awakening when she had come in and challenged his preconceptions.

As he waited nervously at the foot of her staircase he reflected on those first few months. Would he have done anything differently then, if he could have foreseen the bond they had now forged? Probably not. It had not been an easy journey, but as she had once pointed out to him "nothing that matters is ever easy". As time had passed he had come to see that in spite of her flaws (as he and probably the rest of society viewed them) she had a heart of gold, and her motives were pure. Yes, she loved a mystery, but she simply could not stand by and see injustice done, particularly against those who could not defend themselves.

She was undoubtedly beautiful, and the 'sex appeal' that people seemed to be talking about these days oozed from her. When the picture theatres had started touting the latest starlets in such terms he had wondered what it really meant; now there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. Phryne had it in spades, and used it to her advantage. And yes, she flirted with him, but it was playful rather than sincere; she had seemed to know from the outset that he was married, and she never pushed too far. He would learn much later that she had a kind of sixth sense about such things and "married men are far too messy Jack". Which thankfully (from his point of view) or unfortunately (from hers) reduced the pool from which she could draw.

At some point the harmless flirtation had become a little more personal, in that he began to understand that she actually cared about him - he was surprised and gratified to find that they had become friends. After her comment about his 'lean, hungry look' she had started feeding him, although she always tried to make it sound like he wasn't accepting some form of charity..."You wouldn't believe the size of the roast last night, we'll be eating it into next week"..."Dot made so many biscuits that we just haven't been able to eat them - it seems a shame to let them go to waste". "Why don't we discuss it over lunch?" had become a part of their routine, and a whiskey or two at the end of a case was now a foregone conclusion. One that he rather looked forward to. Phryne was worldly, widely read, and highly intelligent, and he found that they were equally at home in each other's company whether they were sitting silently ruminating on the day's events, or having a lively discussion on an Act to be tabled in Parliament.

It was always with reluctance that he bade her goodnight and turned his tread towards his cold and empty house. It certainly wasn't a home, as hers was - filled with laughter and love and that eclectic mix of people she called family, friends and staff (the lines were a little blurred there). Dot's love for, and loyalty to, her mistress were not hard to fathom after her treatment in the Andrews household, and that awful business with Alice, and Jane was much the same. Hugh was both terrified of, and idolised, her. Even those two red raggers trusted and admired her, and did her bidding like loyal hounds. He knew that Mr Butler had initially been shocked that his pre-retirement position in Miss Fisher's household was not the quiet and routine life he had expected with a spinster. But he was a man whose years in service had taught him to take everything in his stride, and he had long ago confided that he considered these months so far to have been some of the best of his life; his one regret, of course, that Mrs Butler had not lived to meet the Hon. Phryne Fisher.

Yes, they each loved her in their way, and although it was a thought that he tried to keep boxed away, he did too. First there was his concern for her wellbeing, and the accompanying lurch in his stomach whenever she put herself in harm's way. Then there was the way his mood instantly brightened at the sound of her voice or the click of her heels, even as he feigned annoyance. Then there were the stabs of jealousy that came as she rattled off some anecdote about one of his colleagues from Russell Street who had been 'especially helpful' with some minor sleuthing on a case unrelated to her work with Jack (the fact that she now had work that didn't involve Jack also irked him). Then there had been Lin. What should he care? He was a married man, she a single woman free to do as she pleased. But he did care. And he had inadvertantly advertised the fact with that Cleopatra reference. And as she and Lin had walked away from him to supper (and he could guess what else besides), he had realised that he had reached a turning point; the affection that he felt for her was dangerously morphing into something altogether different. Something he must suppress if he wished to keep his sanity.

He had begun to seriously consider the prospect of divorce at the conclusion of the case involving the young man who had been killed, by a paper cut of all things, in Miss Leigh's bookshop. "A marriage is still a marriage" he had told Phryne, and as they had clinked glasses they had eyed each other across the desk as if to say "but if that were not the case...". He wanted her, of course he did, in the same way that every man passing her on the street did; but that was fantasy, and Jack was firmly anchored in the real world. If Rosie had ever asked him whether Phryne was the reason for the ultimate end to their marriage, the truth was 'Yes'. Not because he entertained any real hope that the two of them would ever enter into any kind of committed relationship, but because she made him realise how truly miserable he was with the life he had taken for granted until he met her. She lived her life as if every day might be her last, and although that might have brought her experiences both good and bad, her only regrets seemed to be in NOT trying something. He, on the other hand, had moved through the motions of his life like an actor caught in a terribly dull play of indefinite length , always hoping for the lights to come up.

The daily grind aside, it was the not-knowing that really got to him. It was one thing to live life with a woman who was there to cook his meals, do his laundry, and provide platonic companionship. It was another altogether to have a wife who was absent more often than not, but who might still turn up at any time as if she had just popped down the road to the butcher.

Rosie had been shocked, but surprisingly open to his suggestion of divorce. They were each far happier when the other was absent; it seemed pointless to continue their charade. Although they were no longer in their youth, they were both young enough to start again and he was certain that she would re-marry and, presumably, start a family. In spite of this fact, Jack was neither greedy nor vindictive. Unless or until she did re-marry she would be a single woman without a means to support herself - except, perhaps, her doting father. Rosie was not a woman who would consider going out to work for the first time, and why should she have to? He was the instigator of these proceedings after all, and after sixteen years of marriage he did care about her, even if he could no longer define his feelings as love. So he had resolved to keep aside only what he might require to keep himself in the event of an emergency (being shot or stabbed was an occupational hazard), and offer everything remained to her. In all respects he wanted the process to be as painless as possible.

However, it was 1928 and, amicable or not, divorce was frowned upon by society, the Church, and especially the judges who would determine the outcome of the proceedings. It was not a step to be taken by the faint-hearted and Jack had prepared himself for the difficult months ahead. It had been a trying and draining process, but as he had stepped out of the courthouse on that December afternoon when his decree absolute had been declared he felt that are weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. His next step was to mentally prepare himself for the coming evening.

Under the guise of investigating Marigold's murder he had agreed (been coerced) to go to Guy and Isabella's engagement party as Phryne's partner. What she didn't know was that he was now free to do so without guilt, however for his own safety he would not be pointing that out to her tonight. Besides, as much as he had come to adore and trust Phryne, this was his business, and he needed more time to process the enormity of his change in circumstances.

Cleopatra. Of course. And every inch the powerful seductress that Shakespeare portrayed. Then had come his costume. Mark Antony. He should have guessed. What had happened to her feelings on involvement with married men? When she had loosened his tie and started undoing his shirt buttons, everything had suddenly changed. Another turning point. Their eyes had locked, and her playfulness had gone. The moment was deadly serious and he was as terrified as a schoolboy about to get his first kiss. And oh how he wanted to kiss her. He had kissed her before, but that had been a spur-of the-moment hard press of his lips to hers to prevent Rene from spotting her, and although they had both been a little surprised (she kissed him back!) in truth his thoughts had been occupied with her safety. At the time anyway.

Looking down at Phryne he had realised that now was not the time; it was too soon, he wasn't ready for this. He had extracted himself from the situation as best he could, Which wasn't to say that he didn't regret it when she stepped away and plastered a sultry grin across her face. In hindsight he knew that if Murdoch Foyle had not made his appearance that night, after a few too many champagnes pressed into his hand he may well have ended up in Phryne's bed. And would probably have lived to regret it.

But that was then. A little over six months ago, and so much had changed in that time. He wasn't in Phryne's bed now, but their relationship had deepened and matured in ways he could not have imagined. It had not, however, been smooth sailing all the way.

There had been ups - the Queenscliffe investigation, their Scenic Railway ride, the delicious exchange over that decadent ballgown (and what in all probability lay beneath). He was not ashamed to admit to himself that Phryne's naked breasts definitely also qualified as an up. Sure, he had seen them before on canvas, but that view had paled in comparison when she had sashayed across the stage in nothing more than feathers and diamantes. His mood had not been the only thing that was elevated when he awoke the next morning - an occurrence that had since become rather frequent.

However, there had also been downs - most especially that terrible time when he had decided that loving Phryne was not worth the heartache that accompanied such love. He had tried to explain to her, but she had been so caught up in the investigation of her friend's death, that she had been dismissive of him, and true realisation had not struck her until he had made his decision, and it was too late. Of course she had managed to worm her way back into his life before too long. Worm was not too harsh a word - at the time it was not what he wanted, and he had resented her not respecting his wishes. They had been able to move on, and Jack had reconciled himself to his doom - for that was surely what awaited him. Like a moth to a flame, Icarus to the sun...he was deeply, desperately, madly in love with her, and for that he would no doubt go down in flames. But he was going to make damn sure he enjoyed the ride.

Which brought him to today. He was a sensitive, romantic sort of man (which he would deny emphatically), and he had realised recently that in several weeks he would have known her for exactly one year. He had not said anything to her, but he had begun to plan something special for the two of them to mark the day.

And now that day was here.

xoxox


	3. Chapter 3

_For anyone who is interested, l managed to dig up the fraud squad reference. This is a direct quote from Murder in the Dark, Chapter 18, for which all credit goes to Kerry Greenwood:_

_...said Phryne. 'How are you at balance sheets?' 'l'm a shark,' said Jack Robinson. 'I was in the fraud squad before I got sent to homicide.'_

xoxox

Chapter 3

xoxox

He had given a great deal of consideration to what they might do on such an auspicious occasion. The weather had been remarkably good on the day he had met her, but had been atrocious so far this year, so the usual outdoor activities were out of the question. Galleries, theatres, restaurants, etc were very nice, but he had been looking for something a little different; this was Phryne after all. He had wanted to do something special for her, but he didn't want to attempt anything overtly romantic. She hadn't broached the subject but, knowing her as he now did, he had found it hard to believe that she wasn't aware of this pending anniversary. He had been quite sure that she would invite him to dinner, and if he was going to surprise her, he was going to have to work around that.

He had been right. The dinner invitation had been forthcoming, but that was hardly unusual. What told him that she knew of the significance of the date were the enquiring and penetrative looks that she had been throwing him in the week or so prior. That, and her insistence that he attend on that particular evening; her excuse being that a special ingredient that had been ordered would arrive that day and that Mr Butler would be attempting a new dish that night. Well, he was a man, but did she really think he was born yesterday? She was testing him, trying to draw him out. She had never shied away from playing games at his expense, so he didn't mind at all playing with her for a change.

In all truth he was incredibly busy with several cases in which she wasn't involved; a fact of which she was well aware. This provided him with the perfect means to make her suffer, just a little. He had no difficulty in appearing utterly distracted whenever she materialised in his office. When she had nonchalantly enquired whether he was doing anything interesting in the next week or so, he had scarcely looked up from his page and replied that he didn't think so, he could think of nothing that might interest him, off the top of his head. When she had proffered her dinner invitation he had given her a slightly glazed look, and declared that it sounded enticing but he couldn't make any promises due to his current workload. She had said that she understood, but that understanding had been accompanied by a pout, downcast eyes, and what could only be described as a flounce out of his office, which had prompted him to grin internally.

Was he being cruel? Perhaps, just a tiny bit, but it felt damned good to have the upper hand for once. And he hoped that the means justified the end.

Surprising Phryne was a monumental task. She was as curious as the proverbial cat, had 'informants' everywhere, and was preternaturally observant. When his plan had first begun to take shape in his mind he had thought it fairly simple; putting it into action, however, had proved complicated and he had had to enlist the services of Mr Butler and Dot, who could both be relied upon not to spill the beans. Collins, on the other hand, would give the game away almost the instant Phryne laid eyes on him. It didn't matter whether he knew the details of the plan, just the fact that there was a plan would render him utterly incapable of appearing normal in her presence, let alone carrying on a conversation with her. So it was with some reluctance that Jack had requested that Dot not mention anything to her fiance, to which she had responded with a nod and smile that were at once both sympathetic and understanding.

Once the outline was firmly in his mind, he had met with his co-conspirators to plan the finer details. This, in itself, was tricky; Phryne was attending an afternoon tea, but when it came to such things she had the attention span of a goldfish, and was liable to take up a better offer if presented, or just make her excuses and escape. In the event of either she might just appear home at any time. Bert and Cec were thus dispatched to keep a watchful eye (the cab was in desperate need of a wash, after all). Jack had been sure to avoid Collins on his way out of the station; if an explanation was needed later for his absence he was sure he could manage something convincing.

They had proceeded so far without incident; now came the tricky part. This was where his careful planning might all come to nothing - he had to convince Phryne to leave her house with him on the evening of their planned dinner.

He had telephoned her two days before to tell her that some new evidence had come up on a cold case; he was overloaded with work, but time was of the essence, and he would appreciate her assistance. He preferred not to discuss the details over the telephone, so he would brief her in full at the scene. He had arranged access in the afternoon two days from now, if that was alright with her?. Perhaps when they were done he might, possibly, be able to spare a little time to sample Mr Butler's culinary adventure before he returned to the grindstone...

She had bought it; hook, line and sinker. He had been reliably informed by Dot that her mistress was going stir crazy, what with the weather, her current lack of cases, and social deprivation brought on by the aforementioned. At this point Dot had given a pause which, even over the telephone, could only be interpreted as 'she misses you'. He certainly hoped so, otherwise their destination might well really become a murder scene once she realised there was no mystery to be solved.

Ah well, it was too late to worry about that now. For the very first time, Jack had taken advantage of his position, and had truanted a full two hours before his shift was due to end. Not only that, but he had done it in a police vehicle, which he would now be utilising for personal business. He may well burn...He had given a mental shrug and convinced himself that it was worth it his 'pursuit of a modern woman'. Yes, it was now a pursuit, but a slow (and rather delicious) one. Without a word having been said on the subject, he was aware that there was now an understanding between them that that was the case. In spite of her feelings on commitment, she had slowly relinquished control and was giving him the opportunity to make what he might of their relationship. His expectations for the evening were for them to simply have some fun in each other's company. Aside from that, there was something very important that he needed to say to her, but he would endeavour to keep the mood light. She might have been letting him do this, but she was as skittish as a colt, and just as liable to turn and run.

His musings were interrupted by a tread on the stairs, and she came tripping lightly down with a quirk about her lips. "So glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to see me, Inspector." "Likewise, Miss Fisher." He grinned, and then reprimanded himself - this was supposed to be official business after all. As he neutralised his expression he gave her a quick once over, and took in the heavy coat and long scarf, thick tweed skirt, and boots. Well done, Dot.

She hadn't missed the look (of course she hadn't). "Dot told me that you had telephoned while I was out with Aunt P; not the most fashionable look, but I hope it meets with your specifications?" "Yes," tone it down, Jack, that sounded a little forced, "quite right. It's surprisingly cold out; and if I recall, the scene is a little...slippery. No-one wants a broken ankle." She raised an eyebrow. "Shall we?" (Get the hell out of here before I break down and tell all?) he silently added as he gestured towards the door.

The questioning started before they even reached the gate. "So, where are we going?" "You'll see when we get there."..."What's in that trunk on the back seat?" The one that had been hastily put there by Bert and Cec not five minutes before. "Evidence, Miss Fisher, and I would ask you not to interfere with it."..."Phryne!" "Spoilsport." He didn't need to look at her to recognise the face she was making. "Come on, Jack. You could at least tell me what this case is about..." "It's complicated; the context of the scene is important. I'd rather not go through it twice." "Fine!", and the rest of the journey was passed in silence - with the requisite pouting and heavy sighs. But he could tell that she was excited at the prospect of...whatever it was...and he hoped she wouldn't be disappointed.

As they pulled up outside the factory, she turned to him in surprise. "An ice works! How intriguing...I don't remember reading about a murder here..." Thankfully, the query in her statement was interrupted by the arrival of the owner, who greeted Jack with a nod, "Inspector", and was introduced to Phryne as Mr Thompson. "I'll take you on through then..." Jack inclined his head to indicate, as always, 'ladies first'.

As they made their way through the factory, Phryne was regarding with interest everything that she saw around her. She was brought up short when they emerged from between two stacks of pallets, to encounter a wide open space. "One moment...", and Mr Thompson disappeared behind a piece of machinery at whose function Jack could only guess.

Phryne's eyes were shining as she stood there clutching her handbag. "Jack, look!" She pointed at the thick sheet of ice covering the expanse of floor, with cartons and pallets stacked around it. "What do you suppose this is for? Doesn't it look like an ice rink! Have you ever been skating? My father's estate has a lake that freezes every winter, and all the villagers come. It is fun, but...well...I do consider myself fairly agile on land, but ice is another matter! As soon as I put on a pair of skates I seem to have all the co-ordination of a baby giraffe...not a pretty sight, believe me!"

Mr Thompson had returned with a wink and a bundle for Jack, and promptly made himself scarce again. He had owed the Inspector a favour, but if the evening went well, Jack felt that he may well be the one left in deficit.

Phryne was oblivious and continued on blithely "I expect that even Hugh would make a better skater than me!"

"Do you think so?"

Laughing, she turned to face him, but whatever she had been about to say died on her lips as she noticed the pair of skates held in Jack's hand. She was dumbstruck. Her mouth was open, her head slightly tilted in an enquiring manner, her expression wavering between uncertainty and happiness as realisation struck her. He chuckled. He really had managed to pull one over on her.

"In case you hadn't realised, today is a special day." Her mouth quirked at that, and she reached out and punched him squarely on the upper arm. "Jack!...how did you manage to pull this off?" He finally allowed himself a full toothy grin "I may have had help..." The pieces were all falling into place now, and she tipped her head back and laughed at him. "Now, Miss Fisher, if you'd like to take a seat over here..." He folded the blanket Mr Thompson had given him several times, and laid it across a low carton. "Don't move..."

He turned and walked back to the car, from whence he retrieved a coat and scarf (Abbotsford of course) of his own, a ridiculous woolly hat (complete with pom-pom) for each of them, a pair of her gloves lined with rabbit fur, one of her many fur coats, a large knitted blanket (Dot's handiwork?), a thermos, and a small flat tin. He returned to her fully laden, and she grinned as she saw him, but her eyes were suspiciously moist.

He retrieved her skates from their place next to his, and knelt in front of her. His unspoken question was answered with a foot thrust into his hand, and he gently removed each boot and replaced it with a skate. "They're a perfect fit! How did you know my size?" He looked her squarely in the eyes. "l may have borrowed some of your shoes from Dot..." She regarded him with affection "Aren't you clever!" "Hmmm..." He was not ready to give away what else he had had help with just yet.

His own coat, scarf, and skates on, he stood, looking far more confident than he felt. She had changed her gloves, and was now pondering the fur coat. He helped her to stand, and then started helping her into it, before she could argue - not only was it colder than outdoors in here, but from the sound it, she might need some extra padding! That accomplished, he retrieved a pom-pom hat and pulled one onto his head, prompting a derisive laugh from her; which melted into a cheeky grin when he revealed the identical hat he was now holding. She unpinned and removed the hat she was wearing, allowing him to pull its replacement over her crown. He was immediately taken back to that afternoon in the grandstand, and the expression in her eyes told him he wasn't the only one there. He had longed to kiss her then, and it would be so easy now, to lean down and slowly press his lips to hers...but no, they were here for a reason; so instead he gently pulled the wool down over her ears, adjusted the front where her fringe peeked out, and tore his eyes away from hers before he changed his mind.

He cleared his throat. "Right," as he clapped his hands together he couched it in terms she would undoubtedly appreciate "let's get this show on the road!"

xoxox


	4. Chapter 4

_Things are looking up for Jack, so hope you enjoy this chapter :)_

xoxox

Chapter 4

xoxox

Sitting alone in her parlour some hours later, Jack looked back with a satisfied smile. It had, literally, been a wobbly start. He had skated on public rinks a couple of times before, but he was certainly no expert, so it was surprising to find that he was the one with the skill here. She hadn't been wrong when she had said she wasn't good at this. Baby giraffe? A giraffe would still have appeared graceful, but Phryne was anything but as she lay flat on her back, howling with laughter...on her knees, scrabbling to push herself back up...face down kicking her feet and pounding her fists on the ice in mock outrage. It was absolutely adorable. Pfft! He really had gone soft - he had never imagined using that word to describe a grown woman, but that was just what she was.

Of course the distinct advantage to her lack of agility was the contact. Had he minded her desperate grabs for his clothing whilst his arm was wrapped around her waist? His arm being tangled in a grip a python would be proud of? Her hand suddenly pulling at his as she floundered? Not for a minute. He had never actually held her hand for more than a few moments before, so he had been surprised at the protective and slightly apprehensive feelings that had rushed through him when she had settled into a sort of rhythm, and he had taken a moment to ponder that physicaI link between them. Even in those gloves her hands were tiny compared to his; he felt strangely like a lion with a cub between its paws. Adding to that sensation was the difference in height between them, more obvious now that their footwear was of the same type. She had long since started removing her heels in his company, however when she did they rarely both stood at the same time, and certainly not at such close quarters. She was a beautiful little creature, and he desperately wished that he could wrap his arms around her and keep her safe from all the evil of the world. But no amount of wishful thinking could do that.

What he could do was provide her with refreshment. They sat with the woolly blanket spread across their knees, passing the thermos and Dot's tin of biscuits between them. He had tried to leave the blanket entirely to her, but she had insisted that they share, and who was he to argue when it meant they had to sit just that little bit closer. Between mouthfuls of hot tea and biscuits she was gesturing wildly as she recounted her previous skating experiences, her legs occasionally kicking out under the blanket at some particularly exciting moment. There was that word again...adorable.

Before long they had been back in action, her confidence growing by the moment until (to Jack's slight disappointment) she was completing a slow few circuits on her own. She had even managed a blissful grin thrown over her shoulder, before the action had her starting to wobble. One thing she hadn't yet mastered was braking. After one particularly quick lap, he had suddenly found himself shoved forcefully back against a stack of pallets, the recipient of a squealing, giggling bundle. His stomach had flipped as she had raised her head to look at him, her arms wrapped firmly around his mid-section; his managing to encompass everything between waist and shoulder. The fur recently discarded, she was glowing with the warmth of her exertions, and tufts of hair had escaped the confines of her hat, reminiscent of a scarecrow. He had flicked a glance from her wide, sparkling eyes, down to her parted lips. If ever there was a moment for a first (real) kiss, it was now...

But like the best laid plans, it was not to be. All of a sudden they had both lurched sideways and downwards as one of her feet slipped beneath her, and he had only just managed to prevent them both from crashing to the floor. Looking down he had realised how slushy the ice had become, and regretfully informed her that they would have to call it a day. She had been disappointed, but he had promised that it was something that they could do again, although she probably wouldn't get her own personal rink next time. To that she had quipped that now Jack had her doing Swan Lake on ice, she could no doubt face her adoring public.

As he was kneeling, undoing her laces, her saw her shiver, and immediately jumped up to retrieve her fur and wrap it around her. The sky outside had darkened some time before, and it really was very cold in the factory once activity had been ceased. As he had gripped her skate to pull it off he had noted that it was as cold as the floor itself, and as she had wriggled her thickly stockinged toes she had made a flippant remark about frostbite. It was not the sort of thing a gentleman WOULD do, but it had seemed the gentlemanly thing TO do; he had pulled the gloves from his fingers, and wrapped both his hands around her dainty foot. She had looked briefly surprised before leaning back and closing her eyes for a moment in pleasure.

As he stood, having fitted her boot, and repeated the process, she had noted adoringly, "You...are...a wonderful man..."

"I've often thought so."

At that she had playfully thrown his gloves at him, and they had gathered their belongings, and made their way to the car.

During the drive back to her home he wondered nervously how she would react to her changed dinner plans. He imagined that she had requested something rather lavish from Mr Butler, but that had not been what he had in mind when he had made his plans. Upon entering the house she had looked in surprise and confusion at the darkened dining room and closed parlour doors. Mr Butler had simply sent a meaningful look in Jack's direction, and promptly made himself scarce. In truth Jack didn't know exactly what to expect as, besides payment for any required purchases, he had left all the finer details of dinner to Mr B and Dot. A decision that was vindicated as Phryne had swung open the double doors, and gasped in delight.

The fire was burning brightly in the hearth; the only other light in the room cast by a couple of kerosene lanterns placed on two low occasional tables in strategic positions. Most of the other furniture had been moved to allow the chaise to be turned to face the fire; in front of it a picnic rug had been spread, supplemented by cushions of various sizes. A large hamper had been placed to one side, and there was a glorious smell in the air of roasted chestnuts. Chestnuts! He wondered where Mr Butler had sourced them; as far as he was aware the season had passed.

Phryne had already flung herself to the rug in excitement, and was working at unfastening and removing her boots. That accomplished, she had pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and leaned back against the chaise with her eyes closed, sniffing delightedly. As Jack had joined her on the rug, she had opened her eyes and cast a pointed look at his shoes. He had never taken them off in her company before, other than for those few seconds necessary to swap his customary brogues for the skates. He had considered for a moment, gave a mental shrug as he remembered that at least this pair were free from holes, and started on his laces. As he was pushing his shoes carefully under the chaise (unlike Phryne who had just tossed each of hers in the direction of the piano) Mr Butler had entered carrying two large mugs containing steaming mulled cider, and a large lidded pouring pan presumably containing more of the same. The mugs had been dispersed, the pan placed not-too-close to the fire, and the bowl of chestnuts retrieved from its place on the mantel and handed down to enthusiastic recipients. At that he had given a nod to the Inspector and retreated, pulling the doors closed behind him.

Phryne had given Jack a mock glare over the rim of her mug, and demanded that he tell her exactly how long her staff had been in cohorts with him.

"We'll get to that, but first there's something you have to tell me." She had quirked an eyebrow at him, in query. "What's the special ingredient?"

"Truffle."

She had laughed at the expression that had crossed his face, and asked in some surprise "Have you eaten it before?" No, he hadn't, but he at least knew what it was, and wasn't sure why anyone would want to. He had found himself explaining to her how an antipodean policeman had encountered such a foreign delicacy. During his wartime service in France he had been a member of a party on reconnaisance, when they had come across a man amongst the trees being pulled along by, of all things, a pig, on a makeshift leash. When prompted to explain what he was doing he had produced, from one of his coat pockets, several of those ugly, pungent funghi, and allowed them to be passed around for inspection. None of them spoke more than the most basic of French, however they had understood from his actions that those rock-like items were edible. But when Harry had adventurously moved to take a bite, the man had snatched it back and departed hurriedly, peevish pig in tow.

The evening had worn on to increasngly outlandish tales, no doubt helped by the cider and subsequent champagne. They had picnicked in style on an excellent pork terrine (containing the offending fungus, which in fact Jack had found rather tasty), salad russe, and rounds of their favourite sandwiches, followed by slices of a decadent filled sponge. This was accompanied by creamy, thick hot chocolates that had left Phryne with a moustache that Jack fantasised about kissing away.

By that stage they had been sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, and Jack had thought that he probably ought to get to the point of the evening before he lost his nerve, or something happened to distract him further. It was, after all, important to him, and he had felt that he must try to articulate what had been on his mind since his first realisation of a year having passed.

He had been very close to launching into his prepared speech, when Phryne had seemed to sense that something was coming, and excused herself, with an apologetic smile (and was that a slight tremor to her hands?), to the powder room.

Now, awaiting her return, he took these minutes to close his eyes briefly, take a deep breath, and attempt to order his thoughts. He saw to his relief that she returned with a serene smile, and a little more spring in her step than when she had left. He also noted that she appeared to have combed her hair, and had she touched up her lipstick? He chuckled to himself '...what a sweep of vanity comes this way!' She looked startled and he realised, to his mortification, that he had spoken the quote aloud. "Phryne, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." But by this time she had snorted, tipped her head back and laughed unrestrainedly. "Jack, it's alright; you really do know me far too well!"

She recovered and took up her place beside him, but slightly turned towards him, and as he also turned (still blushing), he gently took her hand in his. Her eyes widened, but she was smiling gently at him and her gaze didn't falter from his, so he took this as his cue.

"Phryne, I..." He swallowed. Preparation be damned; he just had to get it out. "A year ago today I met the most...infuriating,..." her lips quirked "intelligent,...generous,...incredible woman." He had expected her to teasingly ask who this woman was, but instead she put on a haughty air and countered "I think you forgot beautiful" before grinning lopsidedly. He huffed out a laugh; would he ever live down that vanity dig? Unlikely, but no matter. "Well, that goes without saying..." The gentle smile was back and he continued. "I wanted to do something for you today that gives justice to the bond that we've forged in that time, and I need you to understand what it means to me to have you in my life...None of us knows what the future holds...well, excepting maybe Mrs Bolkonsky..." her smile widened "but I..." Here he faltered, before looking at their joined hands, taking a breath, and meeting her eyes again. "Phryne...meeting you...is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

She was taken aback. He watched the emotions pass across her face as she looked away from him and back again; surprise, and was that shame? gave way to joy, and she fixed him with a teary, doe-eyed look of absolute adoration.

"Jack..." now it was her turn to swallow, as he nervously awaited her response. "I'm so...humbled by what you've just said...I..." She tilted her head to the side and went on "I hope that I AM intelligent and generous. I KNOW that I'm infuriating!" They both laughed before she continued in a more serious tone "I'm also stubborn, single-minded, impatient, and have a certain knack for giving you grief...And, as you've rightly pointed out, I do have a have a high regard for my own appearance..." He winced. "But in spite of all that, here you are...You, Jack Robinson, are quite simply the most wonderful man I have ever met." His eyes widened at that. "And very handsome, to boot." He smirked. "Nonetheless, I must inform you that meeting you is only the second best thing to ever happen to me..." His smirk widened into a grin. Of course it was. Phryne had led such an unfettered life of fun and adventure, that he could only imagine what would top her list. "No,..." At this she turned and pulled a leg underneath her so that she was facing him fully, and closer to his eye level. As she did so, she reached out and took his other hand and curled her fingers in his. "meeting you is not the best thing that has ever happened to me...The best thing ever to happen to me..." she took a breath, and her fingers tighted in his, "was falling in love with you."

He stared at her, dumbstruck...What? He must have had too much to drink. She couldn't possibly...

"You heard me." She gazed at him in amusement for a moment, then turned the full weight of her feeling on him in a look that could have melted a glacier.

His mouth opened and closed again. How did she manage to gain the advantage in every situation? Actually, he didn't care. His mind had gone completely numb and he seemed incapable of rational thought, or movement for that matter.

"I believe in these situations a kiss might be customary..."

That jolted him back to earth. She was looking at him intently, with the slightest furrow in her brow. Well, he couldn't have that. His hand reached up to touch her cheek, seemingly of its own volition. Her face was only inches from his now, and that distance was closed before he realised it had even happened. His forehead came to rest on hers, and she closed her eyes and let out a gentle sigh. His thumb brushed gently across her cheekbone as his lips pressed to hers in the very lightest of touches. It was fleeting, but oh! so sweet. Forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose, he breathed her name "Phryne..." He kissed her again, right on her cupid's bow; again towards the corner of her mouth; again on her full lower lip. "I love you" and this time her nudged her lips gently open, and caught her upper lip gently between his. They met again and again in a series of open-mouthed kisses. His heart was hammering in his chest, urging him on, but he meant to savour every moment. "I love you." But she didn't have the chance to respond, and instead let out a muffled cry as his tongue finally touched hers. But still he withdrew before the kiss became too deep. "I love you", and again from another angle. Again, and again, before she nudged him slightly away with her nose, and breathed the words she'd been longing to say. "I love you too..." At that he stilled, before his hands found the small of her back and pulled her bodily towards him. This time when their tongues met it was slowly, luxuriously, and with all the love and longing suppressed until now.

He couldn't say how much time had passed, how many declarations of love had been exchanged, as they sat tangled in each other's arms; kissing, laughing, murmuring endearments against the other's lips, tangling their fingers in each other's hair. He reveled in the softness of her lips; the scent of her perfume on her skin; the feel of her small body in his arms as he held her close. Her arms were wound around his neck; he kissed her nose, her jawbone, the hollow behind her dangling earring. She tilted her head, and his lips pressed against her creamy neck. She let out a small sound of pleasure and shifted in his lap.

Suddenly he was disconcerted. Panic rose in him and he fought to keep it from her. Hell, yes, he was aroused, but he wasn't ready for this...he couldn't...it wasn't...

In spite of his efforts she sensed his alarm almost immediately, and pulled back to scrutinise his face. What she saw there had her releasing her grip and putting just a little space between them.

"Phryne, I'm sorry...it's not...I don't..." Before he could articulate his thoughts she reached up and placed a silencing thumb across his lips.

"Shhhh, Jack...you don't have to explain...I understand..." She gave him a moment to take a breath and calm himself, before her lips quirked into a crooked grin and she went on, "I'm not a monster, you know, intent on jumping on you and dragging you back to my lair..." He gave an embarrassed laugh, and she dropped her hands from his shoulders, found his at her waist, and tilted her head to meet his downcast eyes. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "I realise...that this must be difficult for you...that it's probably been some time, since..."

He let out a frustrated breath "You have no idea."

"And you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. But if you do, it doesn't have to be tonight."

"No," he agreed with her "not tonight."

But he had relaxed a little, and his arms twined around her once more as he pressed a gentle kiss into her hair, and rested his cheek against the side of her head.

They sat that way for a few quiet moments before she lifted her head and began to speak again. "Jack, I know I'm not exactly renowned for, let's just say, taking my good, sweet time," he rolled his eyes and she laughed, "but that doesn't mean that a little courtship is out of the question." She was smiling, but her tone told him that she was serious and sincere. "I can wait a day, a week, a month..."

"Rrreeeally?"

His teasing tone brought a grin to her face, and she retorted "I'm not sure I can hold out much longer than that, even for you!"

He chuckled, and she shoved playfully at his shoulders, before twining her arms once more around his neck. His relief showed on his face, and she returned to the doe-eyed look she had given him earlier in the night. He reached up and tucked a stray tuft of hair behind her ear, then gazed in wonderment at her beautiful face. How was it that he, Jack Robinson, had managed to fall in love with this extraordinary woman full of understanding and compassion? And have her return that love in kind. He was sure that she would never cease to amaze him.

1 year ago he would never have believed such a thing possible. Now, as he stepped out through her gate (following a good fifteen minutes spent at her door in whispered words and longing kisses), and turned his tread homewards, he felt contentment sweep over him. Today had been the a realisation of a dream; tomorrow would be a new beginning.

xoxox

_This is not the end of the story! but the next chapter is probably going to need a rating upgrade. I don't know about anyone else, but when I use FanFiction on my phone it defaults to K - T stories only. If you're following this story, but not officially following this story, make sure you apply the M filter to find the next chapter (which probably won't be posted for a few days)._


	5. Chapter 5

_Language note: for those who aren't aware, Turkey Lolly is an old name for fairy floss (cotton candy). If anyone ever has any other queries about language, or anything else, please don't hesitate to ask. _

xoxox

Chapter 5

xoxoxo

"You don't...TALK to your penis, do you?"

Jack choked, recovered enough to hiss "Phryne!", and swept a hasty look around at their fellow patrons of the Hopetoun Tearooms. "What?...No, DON'T repeat it. I heard what you said, I just..." He knew exactly what she was talking about, but he had no idea where the conversation was leading. After half a lifetime spent in football rooms, the trenches, and police station shower rooms, Jack was well aware that nakedness seemed to elicit the need in some men to speak to, or about, their own member as if it were their best mate standing beside them. But he was definitely NOT one of those men.

"Well...do you?"

"No!" He leaned across the table towards her, and lowered his voice so that only she could hear him "I do not...talk...to my penis".

"Good. I'm not sure I could commit myself to a man who feels the need to egg himself on. It's VERY distracting."

"Well, I'm glad we've cleared that up." Ah hah. Typical Phryne, he thought. When a difficult conversation was to be had, she was always one to face it head on with compassion and sufficient gravity. Except when it involved her own feelings; then she resorted to humour, flirtation, or an avalanche of words designed to perplex the listener, and mask what she was trying to say. But he hadn't missed it. Commit. "..." He opened his mouth to speak, but just then a waitress materialised to top up their water glasses, and that was the end of that. She had already moved on to a new topic, and he was due back at the station in ten minutes, so he supposed that it was 'to be continued' until dinner tonight.

Since their revelations of eight nights ago, they had spent every moment available in his currently hectic schedule in each other's company (which he felt was not nearly enough), and generally behaved as might lovesick youth. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so invigorated, or had so much damned fun, for that matter.

They had whiled away an evening amongst the throng at Luna Park; riding the Scenic Railway (between rain showers), eating far too much Turkey Lolly, accompanied by ginger beer (probably not the wisest of choices), and racing against a horde of children to ensure Phryne was seated on her favourite carousel horse. At the shooting gallery she had feigned ignorance, and Jack had been all too happy to stand close behind her, wrap his arms around her, and 'help' her to win a disgustingly cute stuffed bear (which was headed straight for the local orphanage).

They had strolled along the foreshore, in spite of the cold and blustery weather, and he was quite sure that she had only suggested it so that he could hold her close beside him as they walked. A moment spent stopped to admire the view had soon become a heated embrace when she had wrapped her arms around him inside his coat, her hands at the small of his back (although often venturing lower), and snuggled into his chest. They had spent...who knew? how long, lost in each other at the railing, before adjourning to eat fish and chips from a greasy newspaper in the shelter of a pavilion.

Despite his aversion, Phryne was a fan of the pictures, and he supposed that he could become used to those mind-numbing hours if it meant spending time with her. They had taken a tram to a matinee at one of Raymond's theatres, where Jack had soon discovered that the best things about those darkened rooms had nothing at all to do with what was on the screen.

Frivolity aside, Phryne was true to her word, and she had not pushed for anything more than he was willing and able to enter into. Every outing so far had been about light-hearted enjoyment of each other's company, and they had not returned to the serious discussion of that first night. Tonight, for the first time since, they would be staying in and spending the evening alone, partaking of Mr Butler's excellent cooking.

However, it was not to be. The last of the steaming dishes had just been laid onto the table when the doorbell rang, and Phryne groaned; that groan turned into a suppressed scream of frustration when the voice of Mrs Stanley broke through Mr B's words of welcome. But Phryne was nothing if not a perfect hostess and attentive niece, and after giving Jack an apologetic grimace, had received her aunt with a resigned smile. Upon seeing the roast dinner into which they were about to tuck, she had invited herself to stay, wondered at why the room was so poorly lit (and remedied the situation herself), and launched into a tirade on the debacle that was the judging of last weekend's rhododendron show.

Flowers, Mary's progress with Cook, and Mrs Buckingham's niece's debutante gown aside, she had then turned her attention to what seemed to be the point of her visit - her upcoming soiree, and an eligible gentleman to be in attendance. Gerald, the Oxford-educated (not that he had to work of course) heir apparent to Lord Pickering, was in Melbourne as a guest of Governor Tennyson, the Lord Somers. Phryne was her own person, and always let it be known, and so the idea of her aunt matchmaking for her had never crossed his mind. Was Mrs Stanley oblivious to what was going on here? Or was she forging on regardless? Most likely the latter. Or perhaps a little of both. After all, why would she want her family tree muddied by a public servant, when a Lord was at hand? Phryne had rolled her eyes, mouthed 'Sorry...' at him, and informed her aunt that she really wasn't interested.

He had tried desperately to keep a straight face as Mrs Stanley ploughed ahead, and had succeeded until she had asked if Phryne knew Gerald. When Phryne had answered "I knew him once...and believe me, once was enough!", it had all been too much. He had managed to suppress his laugh in a cough into his serviette, and excused himself from Phryne's dancing eyes, and her aunt's confused countenance, before his treacherous facial muscles got the better of him. He had taken a few minutes to pace up and down the back hall, then stand eyes closed, head tilted back, whilst he composed himself sufficiently to return.

"...and your father is only a baronet, after all!" Clearly, in his absence Mrs Stanley had only continued to expound Gerald's virtues as a potential husband; and thus it continued until "Speaking of Geralds..." the conversation had turned to Gerald McNaster, and his mother's current emotional state. Finally, but not before sherry, ice-cream and fresh fruit, she had departed upon drawing from her niece the promise to attend a benefit for (and donate handsomely to) her latest charitable venture.

As the door closed behind her aunt's retreating form, Phryne had collapsed in hysterical laughter onto the chaise. "Oh, Jack...I am SO sorry!" He couldn't help but join in as she had re-enacted some of the more excruciating points of the evening. He had suggested that she could probably make it up to him with a kiss, and they had eventually settled, shoes kicked off, onto the chaise. He, leaning against the back with his legs extended across the seat; she, stomach-to-stomach with him, one knee bent between his, her right arm inside the triangle between his body and the plush upholstery. Her breath tickled the hollow of his throat, left exposed by his recently discarded tie and several buttons undone by tiny fingers. If Aunt Prudence had seen them at this moment, she would have been left in no doubt as to the state of affairs between them.

He felt incredibly relaxed. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, and she took the opportunity to reach for each of his hands, unbuttoning and rolling his cuffs, leaving his forearms exposed. She gazed searchingly at him for a moment, before suggesting that the situation could be further improved by the unfastening of his waistcoat. He didn't object. They lay for a while, her left hand between them on his stomach, her fingers questing gently between his shirt buttons to his singlet underneath. She pressed a kiss to his throat, flicking her tongue out to elicit a hum of approval from Jack, before lifting her face to meet his eyes. Several kisses later, she drew back just enough to watch him as she spoke.

"Jack...I..." His heart seemed to skip a beat; she looked serious, and uncertainty began to creep in. She had obviously seen his doubt upon his face, and gave him a gentle, determined smile before starting again. "I know that I said that I was happy to wait, and nothing has changed in that regard." He returned the smile now, and she took his right hand and laced the fingers of her left through his. "We have had some fun, haven't we?", and she grinned cheekily at him in reminiscence. He agreed, but he still wasn't sure where this was leading. "I just wanted to say to you...if you're just a little terrified of...our being together,...even if it's for different reasons, you're not the only one." Her smile had now turned shy, and he was intrigued. She looked down and her shiny cap of hair swung to hide her face, as she toyed nervously first with the edge of his waistcoat, and then with one of his braces. He rubbed his thumb gently where it rested on her spine, and she let out a breath. "The reason I...feel..." here she faltered, before the words came out in a rush "I've never done this before!"

He was confused, and she looked up at him again. "What I mean is...all those others...it's never been..." She rolled her eyes in frustration at her own inability to convey her emotions. "I'm not saying I've never been in love, but it was never like this. It was never so..." She closed her eyes momentarily, then began again "Vic and I...I suppose we loved each other, in the way that you love someone when you're a teenager and you think that everything's hearts-and-flowers just because you have each other. But we were terrible together...we fought like cats and dogs. And I'm not just saying that...well, you and I bicker, but it's all part of the game. Vic and I...well, anyway...and then there was Rene." His face darkened at the mention of the Frenchman. "The war had ended, I was free to do as I pleased...I was naive...I thought I was seducing him, but he was really the one seducing me. It was all supposed to be a bit of fun, but...I was stupid...really stupid...When he began to hurt me..." she trailed off and looked away from him in shame.

"It wasn't your fault." The anger in his voice drew her eyes to his, and he modified his voice to a low soothing tone. "Don't you ever blame yourself for his actions. No man has the right to treat a woman in that way."

"And yet they do..." she sighed. "Isn't that exactly what marriage gives a man the right to do? To treat his wife as if she is nothing more than his property? To have him obey her, and punish her if she isn't compliant?" She looked pleadingly at him, and Jack had to agree that she was right, "...but that doesn't MAKE IT right." But he could understand exactly where she was coming from, and why she had shied away from any personal attachment for so long. "I have never told anyone this before, but..." She bit down on her lower lip, and he waited for the revelation. "Rene is the reason I cut my hair." He looked at her in surprise. "I mean, it wasn't like this..." and she brushed her hand along the underside of her precise bob, "but I decided that no other man was ever going to have the opportunity to pull chunks out of my hair, if I could help it." And at that she met his eyes defiantly. When he put up his right hand to gently smoothe through the silky strands at the side of her face, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch; and even during their most passionate future moments, he would never tangle his fingers in her hair in more than the lightest of holds.

He pressed gentle kisses to the crown of her head; her fringe; her rosy lips; and then she kissed him back with unrestrained passion, before breaking away with a laugh. "Before I get too distracted, I suppose I ought to get to my point! Which is...that what I have with you is so...different to anything before...so much better...And I realise that I have, uh, clocked up some mileage in my previous expoits..." he couldn't help grinning at that, "but I have never loved a man as I love you..." she fixed him with an adoring gaze, but she was worrying the edge of his waistcoat again "and I don't think I've ever...really...made love before..." his eyes widened at that, but she rushed on "so that's a little bit scary." She let out a breath, grinned lopsidedly at him, then changed her mind and leaned forward to seal her mouth to his before he could answer, withdrawing only to press a finger over his lips. "But, I feel...safe...with you. And I want you to feel the same with me. I want you to be completely comfortable with me...emotionally and physically...and everything will be...hmmm...I was going to say perfect, but sex is never perfect, and that's half the fun!"

She leaned across and kissed the tip of his nose, then once again she intercepted his response before he could make it. "I'm not quite finished...There are some things I think I ought to say to you, to make clear to you, before IT happens...Jack...I can promise you...that whatever happens between us, is just for us, and it will never cross my lips as long as I shall live." She crossed her heart, then gave him an evil grin that had him wondering what was coming next. "The only rule is,my arse is a virgin, and I'd prefer it stay that way..." he opened his mouth but she hushed him again, "but, anything else goes. You can touch me anywhere...WITH anything...If I want something, I'll ask...If I don't like something, I'll say so...But I expect the same in return from you...Well, I suppose that's my piece said, so..." she trailed off and looked at him expectantly.

He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that speech "Uh...well...regarding the first thing, I really don't think that will be a problem." He watched her thinking back over her words, alighting on the ones to which he was referring, and nodding at him with an accompanying grin. "As to the rest of it...it's, uh..." he cleared his throat, "duly noted." The grin widened. "And if you don't mind, we might, uh, move on to another topic."

She tipped her head back and laughed, and Jack felt the tension leave his body.

"Dear Jack...I DO love you!" and she kissed him teasingly on the temple as he downed the remainder of his long-neglected whiskey. Turning back to her he caught her in a searing kiss, before running a thumb gently across her lips, and scrutinising her beautiful face. She had known exactly what to say, how to make him feel like he hadn't entirely lost his grip on manhood after all. God he loved this woman! And while it had been an awkward conversation, it also had him feeling rather hot under the collar.

His breath hitched as she wriggled a little and returned to her former position, laying full length against him, and looking up at him from beneath full, jet lashes. She was wearing her long-sleeved, white silk blouse with the V neck (down which he had a very nice view from this angle), and the cream trousers she was so fond of. Prior to meeting Phryne, he had never imagined that they could be so appealing on a woman. But now he was realising that there were distinct advantages to that masculine garb, when applied to the female form. His eyes ran down the length of her spine, across the perfect rounds of her buttocks, and on down her shapely legs. She hummed into his chest as his right hand followed the path his eyes had taken, stopping to squeeze gently at the mid-point. Yes, if she had been wearing a skirt, he would not have been able to do this...

He heard her intake of breath as his hand slid gently between her legs, just above the knees, and traced a slow path up between her thighs. He felt the heat radiating from her, and she raised her head to look at him, pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted. There was no hiding his own arousal, and he closed his eyes briefly and tried to order his thoughts. What he found was actually what was lacking - no panic, no apprehension; her words came back to him - he felt safe with her. As he returned her heated gaze, his decision was made: he would not be returning home tonight.

xoxox

_So I hope you're not too disappointed that this chapter didn't quite make it to the promised rating change, but I found that once I started there was a lot more to be said that I first realised :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Jack finally gets his just desserts!_

xoxox

Chapter 6

xoxox

They had shifted slightly, and she was now pinned between Jack and the sloping side of the chaise, his left leg beneath her, his right wedged firmly between her thighs. Their kisses were slow and gentle, but now filled with a yearning that neither of them could suppress. He wasn't sure exactly when she had unbuttoned his shirt, but her hands were now under his singlet, wandering endlessly between his stomach, his ribcage and the sinuous muscles of his back. In the meantime, his were doing much the same - the hems of her shirt and silky camisole had been pulled from the confines of her trousers so that his fingers could trace a burning path up and down the bare skin of her spine, and around to grip at her tiny waist; then on down over her still-covered hip to smoothe over her thigh, and back up to grasp at her left buttock.

He buried his nose in her hair, then moved down to nuzzle at the side of her neck, the scent of her warm perfume making him dizzy. He kissed along her jawbone, before hauling her up along his body so that he could mouth at her creamy throat and collarbone. The sensation of her hot breath on his scalp, as her fingers tangled in his hair, was something altogether new to him. Since when could so much pleasure be derived from such an innocuous part of his body? The thought disappeared as she released a hand to shove him away, just enough so that she could capture his mouth with hers again.

When she started to push his shirt from his right shoulder he suddenly became aware of their surroundings. Between kisses he breathed "I think...that we should...move...somewhere...slightly more...private".

When she pulled back to look at him, he saw that she recognised that his mind was made up. He wanted her; tonight; but he wasn't quite ready to have here right here on the floor of her front parlour. She stood. "Wait here...", and she turned off the lamps, leaving them in darkness, before finding her way back to him, offering him her hand, and guiding them both to the parlour doors. She pulled one door open a crack, and finding the entry and dining room unlit, drew him to the stairs. The two of them scurried up like naughty children, and along the hall to where light spilled out of her bedroom doorway. She closed the door behind them, and he found himself looking around that room that he had entered before, but never like this.

The nymphs at her bedside joined with the low-burning fire to cast a seductive glow on their plush surroundings; the pillows stacked high, the fur throw draped across the corner of the bed. Perfume bottles, and crystalware that spilled glittering jewellery, glinted in the lamplight. The colours were dark and seductive, although the burgundy wallpaper took him by surprise. The room had been unlit the last time he was in here, and he had been too concerned about the jewel thief on Phryne's floor to pay any attention to their surroundings; but prior to that, hadn't the walls been a different colour?...What a thought to be having at a time like this!

She was standing in front of him now, and she pushed his waistcoat back over his shoulders, his braces with it; they fell limply against the back of his legs as the garment was thrown at a nearby chair. His shirt was pulled off his arms and followed the same path. Then her hands were under his singlet, and she pulled it upwards before he bent, and she tugged it off over his head, further ruffling his already disturbed hair. He was intensely aware of her scrutiny of his lean frame, before she launched herself forwards and flung her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her hungry mouth.

She soon released her arms, and her hands moved down his chest, and across his taut abdomen, provoking a very pleasant sensation deep in his belly. Her fingers traced up and back through the grooves of his ribcage, drawing her close into him, to land finally on his shoulder blades. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, his head bent to press a kiss to the side of her face, and she clung briefly to him like her life depended on it, before sighing and turning her attention upwards. When he kissed her she released a hand and brought it between them, her fingers curling gently against his stomach, her thumb following the gingery hairs she found there to trace an agonising trail downwards from his navel, and below the waistband of his trousers.

He stepped back and broke their contact without really meaning to, but she appeared unconcerned, and reached to kiss him slowly, her hands now at his waist. He might have been resolved to this action, but he was still nervous. She saved him from his own indecision (and his huge, trembling fingers on those tiny fastenings) by reaching up to undo the buttons down her front. But when she went to shrug the silk from her shoulders, he stopped her, and turned her gently to face away from him, without really knowing why he wanted that. He stood for a moment, looking down at her bent head, before dipping his fingers into her collar, out to her shoulders, and down her arms to draw the fabric away from her form.

The ribbon straps of her camisole rested lightly on her freckled shoulders, and he heard her intake of breath as he brushed one aside with his thumb to press an open-mouthed kiss where it had lain...one on the round of her shoulder...back to the hollow of her collarbone...and, brushing aside her black strands, ending with one behind her earlobe. By now she had unfastened the buttons at the sides of her trousers, and they slithered down to pool around her feet. She leaned back slightly against him to step out of the legs and push them aside; leaving her standing in her silken underthings, and roll-top garters below the knee, supporting pale stockings. With long-practised ease she hooked her toe into the first, rolling it down her leg and kicking it away; soon followed by its partner. He watched her with interest, his hands resting on her waist, then working under the smoothe fabric to find the soft skin beneath.

He stilled for a moment, his eyes closed, his nose buried in her hair, before catching the hem of her camisole, and pulling it over her head as she extended her arms upwards for him. It slipped from his hands, immediately forgotten, as he was faced with the expanse of her ivory back and shoulders; she would say marred, but he would prefer adorned, by those tiny sunny shapes that he would come to love so well. His left hand resting on her waist, he brought his right up to trace from her neck...along her collarbone...down the curve of her shoulder. She was trusting him implicitly, placing herself, literally, entirely in his hands; and as he reached her elbow, she lifted her arm so that his fingers could rake up her to hand, and he laced his fingers through hers, his palm against her knuckles. He brought her delicate hand back over her shoulder to his lips, where he pressed several gentle kisses to the backs of her tiny fingers.

When he returned her arm to her side she snaked hers around his, so that now their positions were reversed, her small palm against his knuckles. Her left hand she placed in the same manner on the hand on her waist, and manoeuvred each of his hands to rest flat against the soft flesh of her belly. She paused there a moment before guiding his right upwards, to her firm right breast. He made a low rumbling sound into her hair as he touched her in this way for the first time, and she arched slightly. As he looked down at their joined hands cupping her gently, her pert nipple resting in the V of his fingers, he thought that this was undoubtedly the most erotic moment of his life. She gasped as he unlaced his hand slightly from hers to squeeze his fingers gently together; the nipple caught between them hardening further, the other visibly doing the same in response to her arousal. They brought their left hands to cover it also, and she leaned back into his chest, tilting her head back and sideways so that their mouths could meet.

As Jack strained against his trousers he was sure that he had never been so hard, and they weren't even completely naked yet! But Phryne's clever hands had already released from his, snaking between them to work at the buttons of his fly, as he simultaneously explored her soft flesh further. She succeeded, and let his trousers fall to the floor, before she turned her attention to his undershorts. Fingers and palms flat against him, she soon shucked them from his thighs, and he kicked them away vigorously. His aching member now released, she grasped backwards for his buttocks, and pulled herself against him, the sliding silk making him groan with pent up need.

He watched his own fingers as they found the top edge of her lace-trimmed knickers, slipped beneath it, and nudged them down over her rounded hips; leaving her standing in all her naked glory for him to view from his position above. A moan escaped both their lips as she pressed back against him and tilted her mouth to his once more. Their kisses were becoming desperate as his hands moved across her heated flesh, and she turned in his arms to face him, raising herself on tiptoes to fit her hips to his, her breasts to his chest. He gasped into her mouth, and she pulled him across the floor until the backs of her legs met the bed; then, never taking her mouth from his, climbed backwards to kneel there. She moved backwards further, pulling him with her, down onto the covers, until they were lying much as they had earlier on the chaise; angled side-by-side, his right leg between her now-slick thighs.

Their mouths locked together, his left arm beneath her, his right hand splayed across her back, she hooked her left leg around his hip and wriggled until his throbbing tip sat just between her folds. He moaned, and she wriggled again so that he was just, just, inside her. They were both panting, and he broke away from her to look deeply into her eyes. Always the gentleman, he breathed "Phryne, are you sure?". Her answer was to grasp his right buttock firmly and pull him over and inside her; and he cried out in surrender as her hips opened to him, her tight, hot flesh surrounded him, and her heels found the backs of his thighs.

He fought for control; this couldn't all end now. She sensed his predicament and stilled beneath him. "Shhh...Jack...let's just wait for a moment...", and she kissed him slowly, and gently, her tongue barely flicking out to meet his, one hand teasing softly at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Thinking back later, he couldn't tell who had moved first. He held her tightly, both of his arms wrapped beneath her, and she clutched at his back as her breath quickened. His hair swung down in a tangle as he lifted his face to hers. She looked back at him through half-closed eyes; her cheeks rosy, bee-stung lips parted, her heaving breasts flushed and swollen; and he thought that she would never be so beautiful as she was right now.

She made a mewling sound and arched back beneath him, eyes closed, as her legs tightened around him. Suddenly she brought her face back to his, eyes wide, and panted frantically "I love you!". Sealing her mouth to his, she gripped his buttocks hard, her nails biting into his skin; then cried out against his lips as she climaxed around him.

He was gone. He managed "...ahh...fuck...Phryne!" before all thought fled his mind, and he joined her in release.

xoxox

_Jack is a man of simple pleasures, and the poor guy's been 'a single pillar for far too long', so I really couldn't imagine Phryne trying to engage him in anything too complicated while they feel their way through the initial stages of physical intimacy; I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Language note: R.S. & S.I.L.A. stands for Returned Sailors & Soldiers Imperial League of Australia, one of several previous names for what is now known as the R.S.L. (Returned & Services League). A.I.F. is the Australian Imperial Force, a volunteer army (Mr Butler referred to his service in the Series 1 episode 'Murder on the Ballarat Train'. _

xoxox

Chapter 7

xoxox

Jack's past post-coital experience had been similar to that of every other man he knew (as far as they let on, anyway). He would roll out of Rosie's bed (or be nudged out if he wasn't leaving quickly enough for her liking) and grab his pyjamas on the way out of the room, smoke a quick cigarette from his pack on the hall table (Rosie didn't allow smoking in their bedroom, and he really couldn't blame her for that) as he dressed himself, and return to his own sheets to fall quickly into a deep sleep.

His experience with Phryne could not have been any different.

Firstly, he couldn't say that he no longer smoked, because he did. Rosie had never smoked; he knew that Phryne indulged, but he had rarely seen her take one of those gold-tipped gaspers from the silver, monogrammed case in her handbag, at least for her own pleasure, and her reasons for that seemed similar to his. He nearly always carried a pack in his pocket, but it was more to offer to others - friends, colleagues, always a few for Lizard Elsie when he saw her on the street (or in his lockup for that matter). He would occasionally take a drag when he and his father were deep in some discussion; over a few beers; or a sympathetic smoke with a suspect he was trying to draw out. But it just wasn't something he had done regularly since the war. Thankfully, his lungs hadn't been badly damaged by gas - like Phryne's acquaintance Freddie (killed by Mrs Bolkonsky before his own lungs had got the better of him) - but those long years breathing in God-only-knew-what on the battlefields left him coughing and short of breath for days whenever he took a puff.

Secondly, he was in her huge bed, in her house, and she didn't seem to want him to go anywhere...anywhere at all. When their breathing had slowed and he had made a move to slide away from her, she had held tightly to him and whispered huskily "Jack...stay...". If she didn't mind his weight upon her, he couldn't think of any reason to object, so he didn't. They lay there, loosely tangled, nose-to-nose, and soon they were kissing again; softly, very slowly, as they smiled gently at each other, her fingers coming up to trace his jawbone, touch his lips, and lightly rake his hair away from his eyes.

He was feeling... He really couldn't describe how he was feeling.

In all the times that he had imagined the possibility of the two of them 'together', he had somehow always thought, in his lovelorn way, that it would be he voicing aloud his love for her, unrequited. The fact that she had been the one to express it, while he had managed, well, sweet-*F*-all, left him feeling at the same time both gratified that this was truly not just about the sex for her, and slightly (only slightly) dismayed that he hadn't come up with the goods. Heh heh, he'd certainly come up with something that she'd enjoyed...

And she HAD enjoyed it. He wondered why he had ever been worried at all, then internally snorted at himself - of course he had been worried, with good reason. If sexual experience was an education, Phryne had enlightened herself to university and beyond, while he was left feeling like a small boy in short trousers on his first day of school. Or, after what had just happened, maybe his second... Yes, he was still nervous; perhaps he always would be around her. But she had so far proven herself to be understanding, patient, ready to step in without him realising he needed her to, but without pushing his boundaries too far. And she loved him. SHE. LOVED. HIM. It was astonishing.

It wasn't the only astonishing thing right now. Jack was no longer in his youth, but neither was he in his dotage, so he shouldn't have been surprised that now, with her warm body beneath him, he was stirring again...but he was surprised. No, actually they weren't just stirrings in his loins, but an urgent, aching need to be joined with her again.

Phryne wasn't surprised; she expected it, even. In his years with Rosie, even in their earliest days of marriage, they had NEVER come together more than once in one night. It simply wasn't done. Or was it? He wondered if his mates had been holding out on him all these years...sex wasn't something that was usually discussed, as such, but a nudge and a wink that told you the reason a fellow was in a good mood were not uncommon. Thommo was always happy to let everyone know if he'd thrown a leg over the night before; he definitely would have said something if he had managed it more than once.

... Anyway, the sounds that accompanied the squirming form beneath him told him that right now was a time for actions, not thoughts. This time when he entered her, it was without hesitation, and he paused only to catch his breath before they found a rhythm together.

That first time, he had held her tightly against him in desperation. Now he pushed himself away from her to rest above, leaning on his left elbow and bracing himself with his right hand, her hands reaching out to push lightly against his chest. He bent his head to look between them, and the sight of his gingery-brown curls tangled with her darker ones had him growling low in his throat, before returning to capture her in a piercing gaze. He watched her intensely for a while as her voice became more desperate, the fingers of her left hand now twisted in the quilt cover. He was tiring, his arms trembling, and he lowered himself onto both his elbows. But his right hand he laced through her left, pushing it into the bed as she arched back. This time he was the one to say it as he watched the tremors pass through her; and again, "I love you", as he followed her over the edge.

Upon coming back to their senses, and after a few sweet kisses, they crawled beneath the covers, and after turning off the lamps, she drew his arm around her, and they fell promptly into sleep, her head nestled beneath his chin.

When he woke, strangely, he had immediately known exactly where he was. There was none of the usual feeling of displacement that accompanies sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings. He heard her soft, even breathing beside him; she was still sleeping. It was dark in the room, but years of shift work had attuned him to the 'feeling' of time, and he knew that it was mid-morning; the latest he could remember having slept, on his day off, for a long time. It was Sunday, and he was thankful that he didn't have anywhere else to be. He needed to use the toilet that he knew was attached to her bathroom en-suite, but he didn't want to wake her. He lifted the covers as gently as he could. Barely breathing, first one, then the other, foot found the carpet, and he slid out and up with the grace of a big cat, and padded silently (but quickly; it was cold!) through to those utilitarian rooms.

Or so he thought, until his fumbling fingers found the lightswitch, having managed to silently close the bathroom door. Even when Phryne had described her fittings to him, he had never imagined that such a practical room could be...luxurious beyond belief. It was glassy, and shiny; but it was uplifting, not harsh as might have been expected. The glistening gold dolphin taps were actually...rather more tasteful than he had supposed from their description. And as for the bath... Phryne had spoken of it excitedly for weeks prior to her renovation, and had been very pleased with it once in situ. Little wonder. He could not deny that it was magnificent - a single piece of malachite carved into a large, deep tub. He wondered how many times over his annual salary would have to be multiplied for the purchase of that one item. He also wondered how on earth it had been manoeuvred up to the second storey, and into its place.

Mind still boggling, he slid quickly back between the warm sheets, and turned to face her as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light. She was stomach-down and slightly turned, the right side of her face hidden in the pillow. Her left arm was bent, the hand gripping the top corner of the pillow, skewiff beneath her. Her hair was what he could only describe as fluffed out around her head. Again, adorable. She stirred a little, and seemed to sense him watching her; barely above a whisper she mouthed "Jack...", then she reached out and pulled his arm towards her, cradling it to her chest as a child might a doll, before drifting off again.

His thoughts returned to those of last night as he watched her sleep.

He wondered now if women talked together about sex. He couldn't imagine Rosie broaching the topic, even (or especially?) with her sister...but perhaps she had. He could certainly imagine Phryne and Mac having a tête-à-tête over a few cocktails...actually he didn't want to think about that. But Phryne had promised him solemnly that she wouldn't speak about what passed between them. Probably only in specific terms though. Generally was probably fair game... Hypothetically, if he were plied with drink tonight it would probably be all he could do to stop himself from spilling his guts - he was going to have to avoid the lads, at least temporarily.

But it was only a matter of time. His absence from the R.S. & S.I.L.A. clubrooms would only go unnoticed for so long. And they would know that something was up. They would take one look at his face and they would know exactly what that thing was. Males weren't exactly known for their intuition, but this was their (supposed) area of expertise. And then he would be subjected to an interrogation of the worst sort... He hadn't mentioned Phryne there since he had thought she was just another spoiled dilettante looking for a way to waste some (of his) time...he wasn't looking forward to it... But when they met her, surely they would understand. IF they met her.

In spite of her declarations, he still wondered exactly how seriously she was going to take this relationship. He had resigned himself to taking each day with her as it came, in the hope that it would continue on indefinitely. It was the compromise he was willing to make to be with her. But did that mean that he was ready to have her mingle with his nearest and dearest? To become involved in every aspect of his life, potentially to crush him later? He didn't know. On the one hand he wanted to keep his involvement with her separate from everything else, until he knew better where they were headed. On the other hand, he wanted to dance around and wag his tail like a dog that has dug up a tasty bone 'Look at me! Look what I have! Aren't I clever!' ...although that would probably lead to 'Grrr... Stay away! It's mine...'

His thoughts were interrupted by a light rap at the bedroom door, followed by Mr Butler's voice "Miss Fisher...I wonder if perhaps you'd like the fire lit?" Phryne didn't open her eyes, but yelled out "YES...thank you, Mr B", before squeezing his hand, which he took as a signal not to panic at the man's imminent entrance. He closed his eyes and tried NOT to think of their clothing strewn across the room; then decided that Mr Butler had in all likelihood seen much worse over his eminent career (if not in this very room; another thought to escape from as soon as possible), and relaxed to find Phryne's smiling face only inches from his as the curtains were partially drawn.

He had long been aware that Mr Butler did not attend church on Sundays - he was a non-believer since the loss of his beloved wife, which was perfectly understandable in Jack's eyes. Regardless, he didn't HAVE to work. Miss Fisher was a fair employer who would never require a seven day week of him; but after a life of service he felt it his duty (and in her case a pleasure) to attend to her needs as they arose, on the understanding that he would simply let her know when he had needs of his own. He had his card nights with the other domestics of his acquaintance, he regularly met with his A.I.F. fellows, and his annual leave always saw him going to stay with his daughter and her family. He was (very) handsomely paid, even for a butler of his distinguished service, and he could do as he pleased, and still spoil his favourite girls.

Fire lit and burning brightly, Mr Butler turned his attention to the scattered garments, picking each item up and draping it over his arm. "Dorothy and Hugh are going to the pictures after church. She said they'll meet Jane at the tram stop this afternoon, and they'll all come back together. She also mentioned she'll be bringing one of her mother's fruit cakes." He smiled at Phryne's "Fabulous!"

Finishing, he turned and swept an enquiring glance at them both, "Breakfast in 20 minutes?"

Phryne turned a salacious smile on Jack, drew very close to him, and without looking back at Mr Butler said "Better make it half an hour..."

"Very good, Miss." He retrieved a pale silky robe from a hook on the back of the door and draped it across the corner of the bed. Then he left them to...whatever it was that his mistress was planning to do with (to?) the poor (lucky!) Inspector...taking all of their clothes with him.

ALL of their clothes. Jack opened and closed his mouth and Phryne looked at him teasingly. "Don't worry Jack, it's not like he's going to burn them...I'll find you something to wear...but first..." she looked at him wolfishly, before sealing her mouth to his as she slid her hand between his legs and found exactly what she had hoped for...

Mr Butler had returned, as promised, in thirty minutes, to deposit the first of two piled breakfast trays, and a large covered dish and teapot that went onto the mantle. By this time, Phryne had retrieved the robe from the floor, attended to her toilette, and ventured out to a spare bedroom in search of supplies; a rather nice wooden handled shaving kit, and a pair of new, striped pyjamas in a loose, generically sized style. Silk. "Of course! I want all my guests to feel at home!" Because Jack always wore silk pyjamas at home. Not. He didn't care to think about why she might just happen to have these things on hand. She read his mind "I have so many unexpected guests and you never know when these things might be needed. Lost luggage, rain storms, illness... and besides..." and she leaned down and kissed his nose, "I've been expecting you!" and she winked as his face reddened slightly.

As he dressed she swapped her robe for a slinky nightdress that wouldn't drag in her food; "I learned long ago that naked breasts and hot breakfasts do not go well together!"

That breakfast was a veritable feast, which was just as well, because all of the...activity... had left Jack staaaarving. As he helped himself to a second serve of eggs from the warm dish on the mantel, he asked her if she ate like this every day; he had breakfasted with her before over casework, but always in the dining room, and eating a full cooked breakfast in bed was entirely new to him.

"Well, perhaps not every day..." a slightly snobbish tone crept into her voice "but I could if I wanted to..." She was waving a piece of toast as she spoke, "Sometimes I have 'the lot', sometimes croissants and coffee, sometimes just a hot bun with jam and some fresh fruit. It all depends on how I'm feeling on the day... Well, on how Mr Butler psychically divines my feelings on the day!" she grinned. "I think that Mr B made the kedgeree just to spoil you...but if YOU want that every day, then you can have it every day."

Every day. She was expecting him to be here every day. That was interesting.

Once again, she seemed to be the one with psychic inclination. "I mean...not that you have to be here every day..." she was twisting her serviette nervously, "if it's not what you want...it's just...I thought... Aaargh! This is ridiculous! See what you've done to me!" Now she was babbling distractedly, waving her hands and speaking through him almost as if he wasn't there, but some figment of her imagination. "One night and I've gone soft! Lost the plot COMPLETELY! Been happy all alone for all this time, and suddenly I can't LIVE without a man! I'm practically BEGGING him to MOVE IN!" Finally she spat "What next? Should I start picking out china?", before he reached out and stilled her hands, and turned a little awkwardly beneath his tray to face her fully.

He rubbed his thumb across the hand he held (it was trembling!) and searched her wild eyes. "Phryne...relax..." She calmed and looked at him sheepishly. He swallowed, but then she looked a little scared, so he gave her a reassuring smile. "I..." No, that wasn't it; as usual she had suddenly accelerated to breakneck speed and, being Phryne, he was unsure whether she had actually considered the consequences at all. This kind of commitment from her was all he'd ever dreamed of, but the last thing he wanted was to crash and burn at the first turn. He started again. "You're such a free spirit that I honestly never thought that you would want that...and certainly not so soon. But if it IS what you want, then I'm happy to give it a try...but perhaps you ought to give it a little thought when I'm not here. Maybe we can give it a week, and then you can ask me if you think you really want that."

She brightened, only to sigh. "In truth, it's always made me a little cross when...someone...overstays their welcome. I've always enjoyed my freedom, and being able to do what I want, when I want. But you can't overstay when what I want is YOU, HERE, can you?" She looked at him earnestly. "I realise it's a lot to ask... I've never exactly...co-habitated before. Even with Rene; I had my rooms, and he had his in a neighbouring quarter. He was only with me when he...wanted something. I know that I'm not an easy person to live with... You might spend a week in my home only to realise that you can't possibly live with me! I'll make you crazy!... I'll DEFINITELY make you angry... But I want to try... Will you let me try?" She rushed on before he could answer, "If you want your own room, you can have that first spare room opposite... We can change the furniture... If you don't like the wallpaper I'll...mmphhh!"

He had put a stop to the onslaught of words the only surefire way he knew how. Their tongues tangled violently, and he heard crockery and cutlery sliding from their trays, but neither of them cared. The kiss continued fiercely for a moment, before he released her gently, and bent his head to press his forehead to hers. She smiled up at him beatifically, and took him by the lapels of his pyjamas. "You're right, I'm getting ahead of myself. I just want you to be happy. And making you happy makes me happy." She closed her eyes and breathed a few calming breaths. "A week you said." He nodded, so she went on "Yes. One week to think about it. But I'm sure I won't change my mind."

xoxox


	8. Chapter 8

xoxox

They didn't speak of it again throughout that week. What they did do, in his limited spare time, was an awful lot of lovemaking, to which he could truthfully say he had no objection. He was really very impressed by his own stamina. Yes, he was exhausted; and yet he felt that he could have chased down an Olympian if necessary. He was invigorated; on top of the world, on cloud nine, all of those ridiculous clichés. Collins had given him a startled and slightly apprehensive look when he had walked in to find his superior whistling over his paperwork. Whistling. Whilst reviewing arrest reports. It was unheard of. They had probably all thought him going batty over his caseload, until the reason for his high spirits had been inadvertently revealed.

He had met her in the park for a quick couple of sandwiches, and to briefly escape the buzzing station and order his thoughts. The food, the conversation, and her small body sat close to his had done him no end of good. He had to get back, and she had somewhere to be herself, but she had walked with him as far as the corner. Jack had never been one for public displays of affection, but it was just another aspect of his relationship with Phryne that was growing on him by the day. Half the population seemed to stare, or look away, in disgust at such blatant emotion; the other to smile wistfully as if they were the luckiest couple in the world. You couldn't please everyone all of the time, but it pleased him, and so it was.

As she pulled away from her goodbye kiss, her hands still inside his coat, he had looked up to see Constables Collins and Foster, apparently returning from a trip to the piecart. By the expressions on their faces, he knew that they had seen him. With her. Very much with her. He groaned inwardly. Collins was shocked; Dot was a model employee and what Miss Fisher did with the Inspector was absolutely none of her business to share. Even with her fiancé. But he wasn't the problem. Even if he had known, he wasn't the type to spread gossip about the superior he idolised. Foster, on the other hand... The grin on the man's face told Jack that the whole station would probably know before he even reached the sanctuary of his office. It wouldn't surprise him if the entire Victorian Constabulary knew by morning. Ah well. He surrendered to fate and decided that worrying about it would only add to the chaos in his already overheated brain.

When he had stepped through the station's front doors there was an unnatural silence, as expected. Foster was nowhere to be seen, but from the sudden creak in the flooring he guessed that they were all in the lunchroom, absorbing their colleague's communication. Except for Collins, who was standing wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the counter, his pie momentarily forgotten. Jack cocked an eyebrow at him as he passed, "Catching flies?" before rolling his eyes at his own unkindness, turning back with a nod and a smile and adding "Better tuck in to that pie, Constable, we've got a killer to catch". He stuttered "Uh, yes sir. I...uh... Yes sir!", but now he was grinning back in a way that told Jack that the young man was very pleased by this development, would like to have said so if they had been on equal standing, but they weren't, so he wouldn't.

One awkward situation down...

...

A week had passed since his conversation with Phryne, but unfortunately he would not be spending tonight with her after all. It was Sunday, he was on duty, and the afternoon and evening had passed into night in a haze of scene visits, and interviews taken in haste whilst people weren't working (and they weren't happy about it). Jack was sitting reviewing what had transpired when he suddenly became aware of the time. He dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his temples. Almost one in the morning! She had been expecting him no later than ten... Would she be angry? Hurt? Should he telephone her? It was probably far too late to be waking her household like that. Just then the station phone rang and startled him from his reverie. Jenkins and O'Connell seemed to have disappeared so he answered it himself, to have her soft voice return his greeting.

"Phryne!...I'm so sorry, I..." but she cut him off "Jack, don't be silly! I know that you're under pressure." Her voice was soothing, "Is everything alright? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Yes, everything was alright, well as alright as it could be under the circumstances. No, there was nothing she could do for him. In fact there was nothing much further that he could do tonight (or this morning as it now was). He had a five o'clock interview here at the station, so he would definitely be sleeping on a cot in the back room. Four hours of sleep on a thin, hard, mattress on a squeaky base; he would have much preferred to be elsewhere, but he had managed to function on far less. "You really should be getting some sleep, and starting fresh in a few hours." She sniggered; "Some might say you do your best work in the morning..."

He chuckled. "Reeaaally, who says that?"

"Oh, I don't know, just people..." Her teasing was having its intended effect, and he felt the tension leaving his body. He really ought to be hanging up and going to bed, but he just wanted to listen to her a little longer (and imagining her sitting at the telephone table in her favourite robe, twisting the cord through her fingers, didn't hurt either). "What have YOU been up to today?"

"Oh, I've just been sitting here by the window...pining for my lover..."

"Liar!"

"You mock me, sir", she feigned hurt, but he could practically see her grin. "Well... I HAVE been pining for my lover, but I haven't been sitting around waiting on him to appear. And by him, I mean you."

"I certainly hope so..."

"In fact I've had a rather busy day..." and she proceeded to tell him in low, even tones. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He wasn't really listening to the details; she knew it, and didn't expect him to remember them later. This was one of those myriad of things that he loved about her. Things that he had never had with Rosie. The witty repartee (the Shakespeare), the teasing, the way she straightened his tie; not because it was crooked, but just so that she could step a little closer to him, and look up at him with shining eyes. Even now, it was a sickly-sweet romance that they shared, and at some later time, Mac would observe that watching the two of them together left her with a feeling of having eaten too much Turkey Lolly.

Late the next morning found him dead on his feet, at her door. She wasn't home, but Mr Butler took one look at him before escorting him upstairs, helping him undress, and tucking him into bed like a small boy. Jack hadn't been treated in this way since he WAS a boy, and never by another man. He wondered briefly - was this how wealthy men were treated every day? He recalled that Phryne had once described one of Mr Butler's previous positions as 'a gentleman's gentleman', supposed that meant that it WAS how 'the other half' lived, decided it was really rather nice, and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

He woke late in the afternoon to his rumbling stomach and the smell of...something glorious. Roast beef? Just then, the door opened, and Mr Butler appeared, teacup in hand, some biscuits balanced on the saucer. "Ah, Inspector... I hope you're feeling a little better? I thought you might like Beef Wellington tonight... Miss Fisher should be home in time to eat... I'll just turn off that bath." Ah. Mr B had been in the room earlier, so that was probably what had roused Jack. He downed the tea and followed the butler into the bathroom, where he found the magnificent tub full of steaming pine-scented water, and a couple of huge fluffy towels (he hadn't realised towels came in that size until he had seen Phryne's) hanging within reach. There was a fleeting moment of uncertainty before Mr B turned and left him to it. Did a 'gentleman's gentleman' stand by and help one into the bath? Probably yes, but Jack was glad that it hadn't come to that.

He was lying back, eyes closed, when Phryne entered carrying a most welcome second cup of tea. She kissed him in a manner that made him glad that the water was opaque, before rolling up her sleeves, sourcing a stool, and sitting down beside him to enquire about his morning. He outlined the salient points before asking how she had spent her day. "Shopping!", and she chattered for a while before saying "Lean forward." She slowly scrubbed his shoulders and back with some kind of rough cloth. It felt...heavenly. He could definitely get used to this. The experience further improved when she moved on to wash his hair, firmly massaging his scalp with her small fingers, before rinsing it, and kissing him again. "I'm going to change for dinner..." and he heard her call out "Dot!" as she disappeared through the door.

After her enthusiasm of eight days ago he had expected her to pounce on him with her decision, either way, in relation to him being there 'every day'. She hadn't said a word. Not even a hint. He was a little crushed, but, it was to be expected. She hadn't thought before she had spoken then, and now she obviously had. He dressed and followed her out the door, to find that the bed had been stripped and re-made in his absence, and several parcels now rested on the covers - some soft, in coloured tissue, that probably contained clothing, one medium square object in brown paper and string, and a small pouch that rested on its top. She was sitting cross-legged beside them in her black silk pants and a gold lacy shirt. As was her norm, she was wearing more jewellery for dinner than his mother might have worn to meet the King.

She patted the covers beside her, indicating that he should take his place there. She looked... excited... but a little apprehensive. "I have something for you..." and she handed him the pouch. He unknotted the strings and tipped the jangling contents into his hand to reveal... three keys. He looked up at her. "If you're going to be...staying here...you'll need to be able to come and go as you please." Staying. He swallowed. "That large one is for the front door...and these smaller ones... That one is for the kitchen door, and the back door... and this funny one is for the garage." She stopped and took a deep breath, "That is, if you WANT to stay. I really have thought about it, Jack. I thought maybe if you want we can have a trial... For a month...Or until you decide you can't bear it anymore!" She laughed, although nervously. "You could keep paying your housekeeper while you're here, then if it doesn't...work out...you can still go back to your boarding house. I know how hard it was for you to find somewhere that didn't mind the telephone calls at all hours..." She was moving into babbling territory and he needed to make her understand what he wanted before she imploded with anxiety, so he went for the tried and true method, leaning across to cup the side of her face, and kissing her firmly but gently. If she wanted to jump over that precipice, he would be holding her hand. Social consequences be damned. "I would love to stay", and it was settled.

"I have something else for you..."

"Oh?"

"Well, several something elses actually. Here..." She passed him the soft packages, which he opened to find slippers (navy blue and lined with lambswool), more silk pyjamas (navy blue with thin burgundy and beige stripes), and a long, patterned smoking jacket (burgundy and beige) with satin lapels. All the outfit needed was a cravat and a pipe in his hand, and he'd be the Lord of the Manor. These things probably cost more than every piece of clothing and accessory that he owned, and they were only for the bedroom! "Try them on!" She bounced across the mattress and practically shoved him off the bed. She watched him wolfishly as he did ("Phryne, stop that..."), and clapped with glee as he stood before her for appraisal. She put her hand on her hip, and affected an accent more posh than her own "Don't we cut a fine figure!", before breaking back into hers and going on "They're perfect! I confess I had a little help from Mr B in regards to the sizing, but as you've used Dot against me for the same purpose before..." She grinned broadly.

Jack had never fussed over his nightclothes before, and he'd been perfectly happy with his cotton flannels until now, but the silk HAD grown on him over the last week. And she was right, he did cut a fine figure. He just needed to stop looking at himself in the mirror before it all went to his head. HOWEVER. "Phryne, this must have cost..."

"DON'T even go there, Jack." She looked at him like a petulant child. "You're just going to have to get used to me spoiling you." And that was when he suspected that the remaining package just might eclipse what he had opened so far. He wasn't wrong. The brown paper slid aside to reveal a small bound-leather trunk-like item that was closed with a shiny catch. In the same leather, a tag swung from the handle 'J.R.' He looked at her in surprise, and she nudged him on expectantly. He sucked in a breath as he opened the lid to reveal a men's travel kit; each of the dozen or so pieces exquisitely crafted.

"It's not EXACTLY custom, but it's the best I could do at short notice. I thought you could use it here...until you decide... And later you can just use it if you need to travel for work... Or if we go on holiday..." Had she actually thought that far ahead? "Or at the station..." He cocked an eyebrow at her, and gave her a teasing 'have you thought that through?' look. She laughed "You're right; I can only imagine the grief you'd get if you turned up with that!" and she reached out to throw her arms around his neck and tackle him flat to his back, where she kissed him soundly, before sitting up suddenly.

"I have a WONDERful idea. I'll change again into MY night things, and so can Jane, and we can eat dinner in the parlour, and have cocoa in front of the fire... It'll be fun! Like camping!"

Like camping. In this getup? And there certainly hadn't been any Beef Wellington the last time he had camped. What there had been were stones under his swag, and mosquitoes. He didn't know what sort of camping she had been doing...

"Jack, stop that! You KNOW what I mean... I'm going to tell Jane!" and she left him to ponder her purchases.

'Camping' over (she had been right, it had been fun), and Jane in bed for the night, they were snuggled in front of the fire sipping whiskey . She gave him a long, searching look. "Are you alright, Jack? Is THIS alright? It must be a little shocking to you... I suppose it's the last thing you expected of ME... But we have been dancing around each other for so long now... And I wouldn't BE ME if I didn't IMMEDIATELY take the plunge after deciding I want to jump!... Does that make sense?"

He pressed a kiss into her hair as he gathered his thoughts. "You're right. It's not what I expected of you at all, and I have been struggling a little to understand WHY you would want that so soon... But now that you put it like that, I DO understand. Now I feel like I should have known all along that you would do something so impetuous. It's EXACTLY the sort of thing you would do. But I also understand that it's a trial, and I'm not the only one involved... So if you find that you don't like it... If you're not comfortable... we can stop whenever you want to. If it's not working I can leave... But that doesn't mean that THIS has to end... Does THAT make sense?" She nodded "Yes", and he captured her hand. "I need you to tell me as soon as you feel that something is wrong. I would rather leave so that we can find another way forward, than lose you over something like that... Promise me."

She had promised him solemnly, and the two of them were now officially living in sin.

xoxox


	9. Chapter 9

xoxox

Café Réplique was dimly lit by candles placed on the mantel, and on the solitary table in use tonight; its occupants sat at ninety degrees to each other, as they took their time over several courses Monsieur Anatole was pleased to have designed specifically for them. Phryne had paid him an extravagant amount (which he had tried to reason downwards) for the two of them to have the Café to themselves for this one night. A wireless was playing soft music in the background; she had considered actual musicians, but decided that she would rather the privacy, and she didn't want the interruptions caused by a gramophone. So, she could put up with the occasional advertisement; they weren't really listening anyway...

2 years, 730 days since he had met her. 1 year, 365 days since she had revealed that she had fallen in love with him. Time seemed to have flown since then... Jack didn't know where it had gone, but it had certainly been well spent.

He knew the way they lived was, well, not abnormal, that seemed a little harsh, but it certainly wasn't 'the norm'. Over the course of his career he had entered a lot of people's houses and seen any number of bedrooms. A working class husband and wife would nearly always share a bed, but that was out of necessity; space was at a premium and their young children were nearly always located with them. But it seemed that the higher they were in the social order, the further apart a man and woman would spend their nights. Those in the middle classes tended to share a bedroom, but in separate beds, whilst in the grand homes of the upper class, he had never before come across a situation other than 'my room' and 'my husband's room'. It was simply a socially accepted rule that, aside from 'marital relations', men and women should not be regularly sleeping or grooming together. Even the forward-thinking Dr Stopes (Phryne's family planning idol) called a married pair sharing a bed 'a detestable habit' and noted, as Jack had read, "A fleeting glimpse of mutinous face as you lock yourself in the bathroom, is far kinder to a man than the wifely docility of sharing a toilet table and washstand." What would she say if she could see the two of them having a bath together? (Although cleanliness was rarely Phryne's purpose in luring him there.)

A year on, and he simply couldn't imagine being without her every day, in every way. Having spent so many prior years alone in his bed, he had been surprised by the crushing loneliness he had felt in the darkness, on that first entirely solitary night spent in the large bed they usually shared. When he had told her of this feeling, she had laughed and told him that she thought he would be pleased to be rid of her for once! But then she had looked tenderly at him and said "How do you think I feel when you sleep at the station?" In spite of their love, it still astonished him that SHE would feel miss HIM "...desperately, Jack".

In the beginning, they had decided to leave the matter to evolve naturally. During their 'trial period' a spare bedroom had been left exclusively for his use should he feel the need to retreat there. He hadn't, and she hadn't suggested it, so it had sat untouched. On the day he had arrived home at two o'clock in the afternoon to find her tucked firmly into bed, knees drawn up to her aching abdomen, he had told her he would take the spare bed. But instead of being pleased at gaining some privacy, she had become teary, and begged him not to. He knew better than to argue with a woman in that condition. These days he took pleasure in the comfort she seemed to find in him at such times; it was not unusual for her to drift off to his large, strong hands gently rubbing warmth into her belly. Which was not to say that morning wouldn't find her flying off the handle because she had tripped over his shoes.

No, he supposed shouldn't have left them there, but he was not about to point out that at least one pair of her shoes often occupied that same position. Males had had to deal with this kind of seasonal anger since time immemorial, and he never classed these 'discussions' as arguments. So far (touch wood), yes, they bickered constantly, it was part of the game, but they had not had any reason to actually argue on a personal level. She HAD stormed out of the station one day, shaking with rage, and he was ashamed to admit that he had tarried on his way home, dreading their next encounter. However, she had come to meet him at the door with kind words, saying that work had to stay at work otherwise THEY wouldn't work; and besides, her mother had told her never to go to bed angry. And she had every intention of taking him to bed with her. Of course the next day had seen her resume their altercation, in his office, leaving the entire station wondering - if this was what was happing here, what must the poor bastard be suffering at home?

During the first month they had lived in a kind of limbo. In her home they were together, but once they stepped outside the door, with the exception of their 'dates', their lives continued on separately. She still went to parties without him; turned up at three o'clock in the morning after dancing the night away with Charles and Bobby; and kept Aunt Prudence entirely in the dark. He stacked firewood for old Mrs Lawson, who had been his neighbour in the house he'd shared with Rosie; he confessed to the boys down at the R.S. & S.I.L.A. that he had become involved with someone, but had so far managed to fob off their invitations to have her join them; and as far as any of his colleagues were concerned, his primary point of contact was still his lodgings. Most of his things were still in his rooms there, and he would stop by regularly to collect a particular book or swap out some clothing, and collect his mail. He had told the housekeeper that he was staying with a friend (he was sure that he hadn't deliberately given her the impression that said friend was ill), and she was under strict instructions to take any telephone messages and relay them immediately to him at the St Kilda house (for a little something extra, of course).

What he didn't do was tell his family. He trusted Phryne, of course he did, but she was as fickle as Melbourne's weather, so although things seemed to be going swimmingly, he had no intention of committing himself any further until the month was up. Even then, if he were to stay, he was not sure how he was going to inform them that not only was he having unmarried relations with the lady detective they'd heard him speak of, but that he was also enjoying her hospitality. Permanently. He hoped that they if they came to know her at least a little before he broached these subjects, the blow might be softened.

As it happened, when things did work out, and he had stayed, the game had been given away the very first time that Phryne had been invited to dine with them, and by his own treacherous mouth. The usual slightly stilted meeting-someone-new conversation had been carrying on around the table. He had made some comment, to which Phryne had replied, in perfect innocence, "That's not what you said this morning". This morning could have meant 'at the station', 'on the telephone' or 'when we were questioning that suspect', but no, most unlike him, he spoke before his brain had a chance to catch up. "I don't think that you can hold a man to what he has to say in his own bed."

For just an instant she looked startled. His brain finally caught on. The stunned silence told him that everyone in the room had heard what he'd said. The cat was out of the bag, and was running off down the street - no point in chasing after it now. She must have seen that moment of decision in his eyes, so she played along "Are you saying...that what you say in bed isn't true?" He leaned back in his chair, and said, with an air of utmost confidence, "Obviously, if I tell you that I love you, that's the truth. If I tell you that I'd love to spend the whole day shopping for hats, that's probably an exaggeration."

She feigned surprise, sent a pointed look towards his sister, then turned back to him with wide-eyed innocence "So... how exactly is a woman supposed to know the difference between these truths and non-truths?" He snorted. "That's easy; a woman should always assume that a man is telling the truth. Unless and until proven otherwise. In which case she shouldn't be holding him accountable for statements made under duress." She appeared gobsmacked for a moment as she looked again at his sister, before laughing out loud and giving him a good solid thump in the upper arm. "Jack, you're so full of it... I can't believe you managed to say that with a straight face!" He had given her a full, toothy grin, someone had laughed, and that had been it for the time being. Later, some private words had been said to him, but he had made it perfectly clear that if people didn't like what he was doing, then those people probably wouldn't be seeing very much of him. And, given time, everyone had learned to live with that.

By that time his personnel file had been updated to reflect his new details, with one exception: Next of Kin. When his divorce with Rosie had been finalised, his father's name had been substituted for hers. And there it remained. It would not matter how long his relationship with Phryne lasted, the bond between them would never be officially recognised, and it saddened him a little to think that, if something were to happen to him, she would not be the first to be informed. He wondered if the thought ever crossed her mind. Conversely, who was her emergency contact? She had been admitted to hospital since her arrival in Melbourne the year before, so she had to have given a name. He really ought to ask her... Surely it was Mrs Stanley, but he should probably confirm that.

... Aunt Prudence. He chuckled as he remembered THAT night. He had been alone in the house - Phryne was chairing a meeting of her Club, Jane was staying with Ruth and her grandmother, Mr Butler was playing cards somewhere, and Dot was at the pictures with Hugh. He had NOT been expecting company, so he had bathed, assumed his nightclothes, and gone downstairs to await Phryne's return with a good book, and an even better whiskey. The press of the doorbell had startled him, and it was with apprehension that he rose to answer its ring. With good reason, as it turned out. He was confronted by Mrs Stanley's driver, who had immediately stepped aside to reveal the lady herself. She did not wait for an invitation to enter; neither did she seem to take in his attire until she had stepped into the lighted foyer with a query on her lips regarding the whereabouts of either of her niece's domestics. After all, no guest, no matter their social standing, should be answering the door. Particularly a man. A man...wearing pyjamas? "Inspector...WHERE is my niece?"

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and groaned inwardly; how was he going to deal with this? He cleared his throat, and informed her that he was alone, but that Phryne was expected at any time. He considered offering her tea; then reconsidered. If she had been appalled by a middle-class man opening the door, what would she think of said man making her a cuppa. Instead, he ushered her into the parlour with an authority that belied his increased pulse rate, and proffered an excellent sherry (perhaps it would lubricate the situation). He could have cut the atmosphere with a knife as they sat like two opposing swordsmen about to take up arms. He desperately needed to gain the upper hand before she took it from him.

Attack. "Mrs Stanley... I do apologise for receiving you in this state of dress. Phryne failed to mention that she was expecting you tonight..." His statement held a query to which she must respond. It was a bold move, but one that paid off.

Parry. No, her niece was not expecting her, she had come unannounced, and at a late hour. Of course she would not have done so if she had known that Phryne had a house guest. Riposte. How long was he going to be staying?

Parry and feint. "Indefinitely". He watched her over the rim of his glass as she considered her next move.

Parry. Indefinitely? Disengage. Didn't he have anywhere else to stay? Attack. It was rather unseemly for a single divorcé to be lodging with an unmarried woman. Perhaps he ought to consider that.

Parry. He was here at Phryne's invitation; he would leave at any time that she asked him to. Feint. Did she think that he was a gold-digger? He thought that by now Mrs Stanley might have had a higher opinion of him. Attack. "I LOVE Phryne. I think you know that."

Touché. A direct hit. She looked down into her glass, before looking up at him with a wry smile and conceding defeat. "Yes".

Salute. End of match. "In fact, your...positive influence on my niece has not escaped my attention, Inspector. However, perhaps these...circumstances...need not be made...public knowledge. It's not just Phryne's reputation that's at stake here..." She looked at him as if his sole intention was to wound her. "And what of Jane? And your own family?"

He agreed; he would certainly not be advertising the fact; but neither would he deny it. He told her of his threat to disown his family; this was how strongly he felt about her niece. He watched her absorb that information, and silently wonder whether Phryne might take the same tack against her, if tried. The young woman might be rather more loose in her morals than Prudence would care to admit, but now, under threat, she realised that she had become rather attached to her sister's daughter since her return to this country. And the dear girl, Jane. The way Isabella spoke, it was unlikely that she had any grandchildren to look forward to any time soon; Jane may well be the closest she ever came to that particular joy. With Phryne as a 'mother', she needed the right sort of guidance in her life. And come to think of it, she really had become rather fond of the Inspector. He WAS a good influence; perhaps he might introduce a little male discipline into this haphazard household.

Phryne entered her parlour some time later to find, to her astonishment, her aunt and lover seated together on the chaise, a heavy tome between them, in earnest discussion over the prevention of scale on cymbidium orchids. She honestly had no idea what that meant, but supposed that she ought to find out; after all, orchids were a particular favourite of Jack's, and several beautiful specimens had recently made a perilous journey in her motorcar, from the sleepout at the rear of his parent's house to her fernery.

Jack felt rather pleased with himself when Mrs Stanley departed some time later, having forgotten her original reason for visiting, leaving Phryne gaping with disbelief. "Jack, what have you done to my aunt?... Was she ill?..." and accusingly, "Since when are you her 'dear boy'?" He smiled smugly at her, "It must just be my natural charm...", and departed up the stairs, leaving her to ponder this remarkable turn of events.

Needless to say, the next charitable event hosted by that lady had seen TWO envelopes grace the letterbox of 221B. As he held his he chuckled; she may have accepted his unofficial place in Phryne's household, but that didn't mean that it was proper for their names to appear on the same invitation...

Hmmm... Aunt P's soirees had him thinking some rather impure thoughts about the little games they played with each other in polite company. The flirtatious looks exchanged across a crowded room. The way she would press just a little too close as she moved past him to speak to a friend. The brush of their fingers when he replaced her empty glass. The way he would move his large hand, as he stood behind her viewing the evening's entertainment, so that it rested firmly to encompass part buttock, part hip, and his fingers would press gently into that sweet spot that marked that front crease between her hip and leg. TWO hands would see her lips parted, and her head turned slightly to his. More often than not, these shenanigans ended with more than just their heated breath on the other's neck.

Once, they had dashed hand-in-hand, from shadow to shadow, down to the Wentworth's boathouse, where they had laughed in whispers at their awkward joining in the bottom of a rowboat. Awkward it may have been, but it left him seriously considering what it would be like to attempt it with the motion of water beneath them... To his alarm, it had occurred to him later that in all likelihood Phryne's dress had left at least a few shimmering sequins where they had lain; he had only hoped that the shiny discs had not been recognised as hers. But nothing had been said, and they had since been invited again.

Two of these occasions had seen them slipping off to tangle desperately in the giant jungle-like fernery behind her aunt's home. And then there had been the pool.

It was a hot summer night, and Phryne and her aunt were hosting a heaving throng of do-gooders at the Stanley residence. When it appeared that the event would continue on into the small hours, Phryne had suggested that perhaps, instead of waking Mr Butler later to drive them home, they could stay the night? Her aunt had assented readily, and dispatched a maid to see that TWO rooms were made available (not that Phryne had any intention of using hers).

The last of the guests finally seen off, they had bade Mrs Stanley goodnight, before Phryne suggested (in a tone that immediately roused his suspicions) that they might step outside briefly, into the slight breeze. She had led him to out to the pool, which was glimmering in the moonlight, unlit; after all, Mrs Stanley considered that she lived frugally within her own sizeable means, and electricity was not to be wasted. She hastily removed her shoes and stockings, hoiked up her skirts, and swung her feet over the side with a sigh of relief. When she entreated Jack to do the same, it had seemed like an excellent idea (probably helped along by the number of martinis he had imbibed over the course of the night).

With his eyes closed in pleasure at the cool water on his aching feet, he hadn't realised what her squirming body beside him had signified, until he heard the tinkle of her beaded dress joining her footwear on the pavement. Before he could formulate speech, her underthings followed. Oh. God. She slipped over the edge and ducked under the water, emerging to press her wet, naked breasts against the tops of his feet, as she slid her hands up his calves.

"Phryne!" he whispered urgently "What are you doing? What if someone comes looking for us?"

"Relax, Jack," her voice seemed loud to him in the quiet air "NO-ONE is going to look for us. Aunt P is already snoring, and the others are too busy clearing away so they can get to their own beds. So..." she purred, "I think that you should join me." She slid her hands down to grasp his ankles, and used them to hoist her torso from the water, and up towards him, her nipples hardening as the breeze caressed them. Her hair slick against her head, her eyes shining in the darkness, she was a siren from the deep; and he was utterly helpless to resist her call. The painful aching of his feet had been replaced by another sort of ache, further up his body, and his brain had relinquished sensible thought.

His tie and jacket had been discarded inside; now everything else joined her tumbled garments. As the cool water closed over his head, she dived down and away from him, a naiad luring him to her lair. He chased her through the water in desperate agony, before finally pinning her against the fountain wall, and claiming her hungrily. Sex in the bath was one thing - hot, slippery with bubbles, and invariably leaving bruises in all sorts of uncomfortable places. This was something altogether - the water cold against their heated skin, the feeling of weightlessness as he held them to the wall with just the one hand hooked over the fountain's edge, the other grasping her buttocks. Their pent-up lust, the alcohol coursing through their veins, and the circumstances all combined to overwhelm them in no time, but the memory of that night would always remain. When morning came, and they took breakfast beside the cooling waters at Mrs Stanley's suggestion, some very heated glances had been exchanged over that lady's prim, curly head.

Perhaps, if they ever moved house, they would have a pool of their own...

xoxox

_There's still quite a bit more to be said, so please keep hanging in there._

_P.S. Fencing is a very complicated business, and I am by no means an expert, so if there are any glaring errors in execution, please bear in mind that it was just a little fun :)_


	10. Chapter 10

_Sooooo sorry it has taken me so long to update. You might want to go back and re-read Chapter 9 just to get back in the flow of the story. With Christmas fast approaching I'm not sure how I'll go but I'll do my best to get the next chapter up prior to Christmas Eve :)_

_P.S. I'm not sure how it happened but this chapter seems to be a little longer than the others. Can't be helped :P_

xoxox

She startled him from his reverie "Penny for them...?" but then grinned and went on before he could answer, "No, wait, I know... You're thinking about how incredibly beautiful I am!" Yes, he was still getting grief over that accidental vanity jibe of a year ago, but what did it matter? She did look stunning tonight, and of course he had already told her so, so... "No."

"No?" She looked more than a little surprised. "You DON'T think I'm beautiful?"

"No."

"No?" She had started to pout, and he thought she might actually be starting to worry.

"No. I don't think you're beautiful." He was not sure how much longer he could maintain a straight face. "You ARE beautiful... It's just a fact - like the sun rising every morning."

"Awww...Jack..." she melted, and turned that doe-eyed look he loved so much on him. And swallowed. Her eyes had become a little moist. "That's pretty high up there on the list of 'most romantic things Jack has ever said to me'."

"Hmmm... high up, but by no means at the top..." he cast an enquiring glance at her "So what IS the 'most romantic thing Jack has ever said to you'? I mean, there are so many to choose from..."

She laughed gently, "There are, there are... but I think you know..."

"Well, only you can be the judge of that, but I have an idea of what you think..." and he paused before using a nickname that was used sparingly, but was apt in this case, "Freckles."

She bit down on her lip and looked back at him a little shyly, before answering in a gentle tone, both to the name, and his assumption, "Yes."

The term of endearment most often used between them was 'my love', and was perfectly acceptable for most situations, private or public. They were fairly careful about how they spoke to each other in work situations, but it had slipped out once or twice, luckily when only his own officers were present; which was not to say those men didn't try to smother their laughter. On the rare occasion that she enthusiastically greeted him at the station with "Hello handsome!" he tended to receive looks that conveyed a little envy that there was a woman who not only loved him, and showed it, but thought he was good-looking, and said so.

Thankfully, to date he had yet to accidentally reveal any of his more private monikers for her. There had been a number of occasions when one or more of the other members of the household had heard him call her his 'mischievous little imp', but they could all agree that in each circumstance it was perfectly apt. All of her catlike attributes were covered by 'kitten', but that was reserved for times when they were absolutely, certainly, entirely alone. Although he didn't use it often, he was yet to find a situation in which it could not be inserted (sleepy..., grumpy..., sexy...), to be whispered into her ear, against her red pout, or as he stroked her silky black cap of hair.

But to 'freckles'. 'Freckles' he sometimes used among family (and that included her household) when the marks in question were particularly visible (such as visits to the seaside, or picnicking), and her disposition was sunny to match. However, the images the name brought to both of their minds were most definitely private.

Very early in their relationship they had been lying in bed one morning, his left arm cradling her head, his body turned towards her. There were freckles to be found on every part of her body, but they were most densely situated on her lower legs, her shoulders, and upper arms, chest and back. There was also a permanent sprinkling of them across her face, their definition usually softened by her makeup. He had brought his right hand up to the shoulder close against his chest, and run his fingers over the darker freckles found there, when she had said, with something akin to fear in her voice, "Don't look at all my horrible freckles." His brow had wrinkled in confusion, "What?" She huffed "They're horrible, ugly things. I have to put up with them, but you don't have to scrutinise them."

He was astonished; this wasn't vanity, it was insecurity. This woman who projected such confidence in her appearance was ashamed of these marks on her skin, and was, even now, squirming under his assessing gaze. He kissed her gently, and he felt her relief that he was no longer looking at her; but he would not let her off that easily, and pulled up and back to look down on her. "Phryne... I love your freckles..." Her eyes widened but they still held a fearful quality. "They're exquisite... Like stars and constellations on your skin..." Now it was her turn to be astonished. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it again and swallowed, and he saw tears come into her eyes. She closed her lashes and he kissed her cheek where a single tear tracked down. "Jack..."

He kissed her mouth again, and she opened her eyes. Then he gave her a look that held both promise, and all his love, "Just so you know... I have every intention...of finding...and mapping...every...single...one." The sound that came out of her then was half giggle, half sob, and she hugged him tightly against her.

"Jack... I think that that might be the most disgustingly romantic thing that any man has said to any woman, since time began."

"Hmmm... I don't know about that, but I do know that it's going to take quite a while... so I think I'd better start... right...now..." He kissed the tip of her nose "That one right there is A1. Are you going to remember that?" This time she giggled properly. He kissed a place on her cheek "A2"; her collarbone "A3. I hope you're paying attention..."; her shoulder "A4..." He lost count somewhere, as the giggles turned into sighs, the sighs into gasps, as he pressed his mouth to freckles she didn't know she had. Later, as they lay sated in each other's arms, she turned to look at him. "Thankyou Jack... I shall never look at my freckles in the same way again..."

From there, it had turned into a sort of game that he delighted in playing with her. Sometimes it was part of their lovemaking, and she would lie there and try not to latch onto him for as long as possible, as he slowly and deliberately kissed every part of her body. Other times he would suddenly come up behind her and kiss the nape of her neck "N23", or, out of the blue, tackle her, squealing, onto the bed, and pull aside her clothing to reveal her bare stomach "K77".

'Freckles'...

He leaned across in the candlelight, and kissed the tip of her nose "A1". She gave him a satisfied and tender smile, before asking "I know it's only the wireless, but will you dance with me, my love?"

Dancing. Just another of the many things he had previously found uninspiring, only to gain his interest now that he was involved with Phryne. Sure, she hadn't quite convinced him to tango with her, but there was little he enjoyed more than pulling her close (perhaps a little closer than some of polite society approved of) and moving with her in perfect synchronicity, her small hand in his, her head at his cheek. Or when they were alone, as now, nose-to-nose, her arms tangled around his neck, his at her tiny waist. Jack was a co-ordinated man who was quick to pick up on most new steps that Phryne introduced to him, and he had learned a great deal under her expert tutelage; who knew, perhaps one day he WOULD be able to tango with her - provided that it was COMPLETELY private. He was able to withstand the envious stares of others as the two of them glided fluidly around a crowded room, but as far as he was concerned, a tango, with real feelings involved, was far too intimate to be trotted out in public.

Dancing wasn't the only area in which he had called upon her expertise. When he had started to feel that their relationship really was going somewhere, he had decided that perhaps he ought to resurrect, and improve upon, his school- and war-time French. His early success in this endeavour he attributed entirely to Phryne's philosophy of incentives based learning. Translation: he would be rewarded for getting something right, nudity was always involved, and repetition was essential. When he had the basics down pat, Phryne had come up with the clever idea of 'Tuesday French night' (although not as a substitute for the current programme, of course).

Jane had French lessons at school, and had been able to practise a little on her recent tour to the Continent. Mr Butler spoke the fluent French of those who have learned, used the language, but never lived in the country for any long period, as Phryne herself had. Dot was struggling her way determinedly through the basics and genuinely hoped to grasp the language fully one day. So, every Tuesday, from afternoon until bed time (or later in Jack's case) the only language allowed in the house was French. The only ones exempted were Bert, who would just repeatedly say PAR-LAY-VOO FRON-SAY and point at whatever it was that he wanted, and Cec, who in his usual style, said very little unless absolutely necessary. The early days had proved difficult, but had also provided an abundance of laughter. As their reward, once a month they would all dine at Café Réplique. Sure, he wouldn't be interrogating a suspect in their native language any time soon, but these days, Jack found that not only could he understand nearly all of the words and phrases on the Café's ever-changing menu, but he could also carry on a fairly civilised conversation with Monsieur Anatole.

Jack considered that the Frenchman really had outdone himself this evening. Every offering so far had been exceptional, the champagne the very best (although he had no doubt of Phryne's input there), and the man himself had been attentive but not intrusive. Everything was perfect.

Phryne had closed her eyes now, and he pulled back, just a little, to gaze adoringly at her as they danced. She was wearing a navy beaded dress picked out with an abstract green design, and the earrings he had given her earlier swung gently beneath her bobbed hair. They were supposed to have been an after-dinner gift, but when he had looked up to see her step off the staircase, he knew that he had to give them to her right then and there. Had she known what he had bought for her? No, he didn't think it possible that she could, but like so much in their life, events seemed to have conspired to bring them just that little closer together. When she had tipped the contents of the pouch into her hand, she had laughed in delight at his serendipitous choice; the long, carved teardrops of swirling, apple-green jade, hung from mounts of diamond and onyx, could not have been a more perfect accessory to her outfit. She had immediately reached to unhook the sapphires that she wore, replaced them, and twirled neatly for Jack's perusal, before launching herself at him for a heated kiss. Now, hours later, he was still feeling the satisfaction that came with the vindication of his choice.

A choice he would not have been able to make, had it not been for Phryne's own generosity. Not that she saw it that way. And not that he had exactly seen it that way either, at first. He had been baffled when, late one night over supper, she had slid a pile of notes towards him across the surface of the dining table; a quick glance had told him that it was a little more than what he earned in a month. "I wasn't aware that you owed me any money…?"

"I don't. It's for you…"

His face obviously showed his confusion, as she then reached out and took his hand, gazing at him searchingly. "Jack… It's not…" she seemed a little stuck. "I'm not… trying to… PAY you to stay with me. Although…" she grinned lopsidedly "you'd make an excellent gigolo!" He had chuckled, but uneasily; he could now see where the conversation was going, and he wasn't entirely sure that he liked it.

"Jack…" she squeezed his fingers gently, "if this is going to upset you…" She started again "I don't want you to feel… aargh!" She had closed her eyes and tilted her head back, before looking down at their joined hands, and back up at him again. "I just thought… that if we're going to be doing this… us… indefinitely… then I want you to be…" she squeezed his fingers again, "I want to share MORE with you. I want you to be able to pay for dinner, no matter where we are, no matter how many of us are present. I want to be able to ask you to collect things for me without feeling like I'm burdening you unreasonably. I want you to be able to buy something frivolous for yourself just because you want it. BUT," she had hurried on, "if it's going to make you uncomfortable, then I suppose…" she petered out, but she had been looking at him pleadingly.

There had been so many thoughts running through his head, and he had tried, unsuccessfully, to find something to say to her that wouldn't upset her and make the situation worse. He had needed to be away from her for a moment, so he had stood, detaching his hand from hers, and told her that he just needed to think for a minute, and then he'd be back. He had smiled reassuringly at her before moving into the parlour and crossing to the hearth, his fingers absentmindedly gripping the mantel as he tried to take stock.

Yes, it did make him feel uncomfortable. Emasculated. Like she was trying to buy his attention. Like the hard work that he did every day to earn his salary meant nothing. Like suddenly he wasn't good enough for her and her money would change him into the person she wanted him to be.

All of which was utterly ridiculous. He had drawn in a deep, calming breath. He knew that none of these things reflected her feelings for him, their relationship, and that she would be horrified that he had thought them himself. She was being generous, giving him a certain freedom he'd never had. She was trying to bring him further into her way of life, to entwine their everyday lives together in ways he had never dared to consider. He needed to swallow his pride, and trust that his lover wasn't trying to hurt him; her wealth was a part of her, but if it disappeared tomorrow, he couldn't imagine that she would be anything other than the Phryne he adored, just as he would still be himself if he accepted her offer tonight.

He had suddenly felt that a weight had been lifted from him. His thoughts HAD been ridiculous, and he was very glad that he hadn't shared them with her. But he had known that she would understand his reticence, just as she seemed to understand everything else about him, because she KNEW HIM in a way that no-one had ever known him. Probably not even himself.

He had stepped lightly back to the dining room, stopping to press a kiss into her hair, before sliding back into his seat, and taking her hand. He'd cleared his throat, then opened his mouth to say something, before realising that he wasn't really sure exactly what to say. So instead he had brushed his thumb across her cheekbone and leaned to kiss her with every ounce of love that he felt for her.

When they had pulled away from each other, he simply said "Thankyou, Phryne". There wasn't anything else that he needed to say. Her relief was almost palpable, as she smiled at him and explained that he would be entirely free to spend it as he chose, and she would add it onto her own weekly drawings from now on.

Weekly? How on earth was he going to spend that much money every week? But he had soon found that it really wasn't that difficult – meals, treats, books for Jane, flowers for Phryne, a new hat for his mother, an amazing specimen at the orchid show, a pair of navy Oxfords… the earrings.

But it was not just the money that had enabled him to purchase them, but also a friendship that he could not possibly have foreseen.

He had been at home one afternoon, relaxed, no jacket, sleeves rolled, dealing with some long-neglected correspondence; Phryne was out, dropping Jane at the home of a school friend. When his stomach had rumbled he had been planning on making his way to the kitchen, only to be confronted by Mr Butler at the foot of the stairs, holding an empty tray. "Ah, Inspector, Mr Lin and Mrs Lin are in the parlour— "he indicated them and they both turned to look at him, "I understand Miss Fisher is due to return shortly. Will you be joining them for tea?"

He had inadvertently walked into the situation, but there was no escaping it now. "Yes, of course, thank you Mr Butler", and that man had whisked away to procure another teacup. This was… unexpected. He was on the back foot, and couldn't help making the mental comparison: here he was in rumpled shirtsleeves, his hair ruffled by his own fingers' absentminded combing, whilst Lin looked as cool and elegant as ever in his usual sartorial splendour. However, although he was trying to maintain a neutral expression, as they stepped towards each other and shook hands Jack saw a hint of surprise and suspicion. He had realised that he would have to be the one to speak first, but what on earth was he going to say? "I… understand that you've just returned from China…?"

"Yes…" Lin looked a little puzzled at the Inspector's knowledge (and no doubt his appearance), "we returned a fortnight ago. We have some gifts for Phryne— "Jack had noted the use of her first name, "we didn't telephone, but we were hoping to catch her at home…"

"Well, she's due back at any time. Would you excuse me for a few moments…?" Jack had escaped back up the stairs to hastily don a jacket, wash his hands and face, and comb his hair.

He had just come back down, and turned into the dining room to find Mr Butler, when the front door opened to admit his paramour, who bounded past him unseeingly, and was up past the landing before he had a chance to speak. "Phryne" she had turned and grinned down at him over the balustrade. "Jack, I'll be back down shortly, I'm just going to change…" and she had turned away. "Phryne" she had turned back again and he playfully crooked a finger at her. Her grin had turned cheeky as she started back down the stairs, saying "Never let it be said that I'm not an obedient… non-wife!" She had bounced down, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him soundly. If there had been even the tiniest flicker of doubt in Lin's mind as to the reason for Jack's presence, it had now been extinguished.

Jack pulled away, a little embarrassed (and also a little smug). "Phryne… you have visitors…" and he inclined his head towards the Lins in the parlour.

"Lin! Camellia!" She turned back to Jack with a wink, "Jack! Why didn't you say so!" and she rushed into the parlour to enthusiastically greet her friends.

Mr Butler had returned, bearing two additional cups, and they had all busied themselves with the procurement of tea and finger foods, before Phryne entreated them to relay every detail of their trip. Gifts were retrieved from the car: an exquisite gold and enamel hair comb on which bees dangled gently over flowers, a pair of delicately embroidered slippers, an enormous urn patterned with dragons, a peculiar little pot of stone and brass at whose function Jack could only have guessed (an incense burner), and several bolts of fabric, the patterns so strange and beautiful and vibrant that he could already picture them on Phryne's slim form.

They had finally lapsed into a slightly awkward silence, when Camellia commented on the orchid positioned so that its flowers hung elegantly over the edge of the piano lid. When Phryne had explained that it was the product of Jack's attentions, and that further examples of his efforts were located in the fernery, the Lins had both looked a little surprised, before Camellia had asked Jack if perhaps he might show her. He had led her out through the kitchen, and she had exclaimed over the opulent blooms, before turning and giving him a rather penetrating look, but accompanied by a knowing smile.

"You are a very _lucky_ man, Inspector… and my husband is… an _envious_ man." Jack had looked back at her in astonishment, and she had laughed gently. "I know that this must seem strange to you… but in our culture… it is not unusual for a man to have the woman he must be with for duty – his wife – and the woman he wants to be with – I suppose you would say… a mistress. Or maybe, more than one of each." Jack had no idea what to say, but thankfully she went on, "Lin Chung married me for duty… but we have become… close… We are both happy in his choice… and I believe that our marriage will be a long and productive one." She smiled and nodded slightly, and he inclined his head to show that he understood. "However, I think that… he hoped that one day… perhaps soon… he might return to Miss Phryne." Hmmm, he had wondered, at the time, how Phryne's 'relationship' with Lin had really ended. Perhaps it hadn't ended at all, but simply been put on ice? But Camellia wasn't finished. "Right now, he's explaining this to her…" the thought had his stomach twisting, "and she's explaining to him… that it will never happen." She had nodded decisively at him. Then she had sensed that he had no idea of how to respond, and had laid a reassuring hand on his arm. "Don't worry, Inspector, everything will turn out for the best. You are a lucky man." This time she had actually grinned at him, and he couldn't help hesitantly smiling back at her. Time would tell, he had supposed.

They had returned to their earlier conversation, before wandering back to the parlour, where Phryne was perched on the end of the chaise, teacup in hand. Lin had been leaning back, seeming, for all the world, that he could not have been more relaxed; his emotions only betrayed by the fingers that had clenched the carved swirls of the arms of his chair. When Jack had resumed his position on the chaise, Phryne had scooted close beside him, smiled serenely, and offered more tea. Camellia had launched into praise for his orchids, then the Botanic Gardens, her own love of gardening, and from there, light conversation had flowed, until their guests had departed about a half hour later. At the car, Lin had shaken Jack's hand firmly, but in a manner that suggested that Jack had won the game, and he was bowing out gracefully. Which was not to say, that if Jack dropped the ball, he wouldn't be right there to scoop it up.

When they had made their way back inside, Phryne had moved into Jack's arms, and nuzzled under his chin. "There's something I have to tell you."

Did he really want to know? "Phryne, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do. I need you to understand…... I received a bit of a lecture from Lin this afternoon." He had crooked an eyebrow at her, and she went on. "He…" She had stopped, considered, then started again, "When his engagement to Camellia was called off, he… I think he wanted me to make the choice for him...of what would happen. He wanted me to choose him…and he would have let her go…" She had been nervously fidgeting with the buttons of his waistcoat as she had spoken. "But I couldn't do that… I told him that I couldn't make that kind of commitment to ANY man. So…he's a little bit cross!" She had smiled up at him a little hesitantly. "BUT… I told him…" she had drawn in a breath before continuing, "you are not ANY man…you're THE man that I want to share my life with" and then she had smiled up at him brightly. "I care about Lin… I know that the two of you don't exactly see eye to eye, but he's a good man… But what he and I had together does not even begin to compare with what I have with you… Do you understand?"

Yes, he did, and he had made a concerted effort to be friendly with both of the Lins in the times that they had seen them since. He and Lin would never be firm friends, but they were now capable of holding a perfectly civil conversation, without the presence of the ladies. And he had found Camellia to be a strong, spirited woman, much like Phryne, who went out of her way to make him feel that his friendship was a welcome addition. He and Phryne had even been invited to dine at the Lin household (their house-within-a-warehouse had astonished him), much to Grandmother Lin's displeasure. Although, he reflected, it seemed that most things in life displeased that irascible old woman. But, back to the point.

Several weeks ago, when he had found himself in Chinatown, he had spotted the earrings in a jumble of ornamented goods, behind the smudged windows of what appeared to be a jewellery store. He had sent Sergeant O'Connell back to the station, and entered the shop, only to find that the sole occupant, a tiny, wizened old man, who apparently didn't speak a word of English, had retreated from him in fear. Jack was not in the habit of terrifying the elderly, so he had made his way to the Lin warehouse, and asked for either Lin or Camellia, although he had been desperately hoping for the latter. His prayers were answered a few minutes later when he was ushered into her presence, and having explained the situation to her, the two of them had made their way back to the shop.

The old man may have been uneasy in Jack's presence, but he was shrewd. The earrings may not have been of a traditional design, but he knew their value, and he also knew that Jack would walk away with them, no matter what. So, in spite of Camellia's best efforts to sway her countryman, they had eventually agreed on a rather extravagant price.

Over green tea in her hidden garden, she had examined the earrings closely in a patch of sunlight, and agreed with Jack that the price he had paid may have been high, but that they belonged on Phryne.

Now, as Phryne reached to brush a dark, wayward strand behind her ear, Jack was sure. They had been worth every pound.

xoxox


	11. Chapter 11

_Just because it's Phryday, here's another chapter :)_

_Once again, I would advise that if you haven't already done so, you should probably re-read the previous 2 chapters, as 9, 10 and 11 flow together._

xoxox

Now, Phryne had returned from the powder room and was gazing at him searchingly. She was smiling, but she looked just a little apprehensive, and Jack wondered what she could possibly be nervous about. She leaned over to kiss him, before sliding a black box across the white of the tablecloth. Ah. Despite the fact that he had asked her not to, she had bought a gift for him, and was uneasy about his response.

He lifted the lid to reveal a silver-coloured tiepin, containing a single sparkling stone, and a pair of matching cufflinks, each with its own smaller stone, surrounded by a simple etched border. They were probably platinum, knowing Phryne, and the stones? Well they certainly wouldn't be paste… They were undoubtedly impressive, but he had never, in his entire life, even imagined himself wearing such things, and he wasn't sure that he currently owned any clothing that would do justice to them. Not that he didn't appreciate the gesture…

A touch of his uncertainty must have shown on his face, as Phryne reached out, smiling, to take his hand, and said "I know they're not your usual style… but as I understand it… at least one diamond is usually called for in this situation…"

This situation? What situation? His mind came up blank and her look turned teasing. "Jack…" What was she doing? She couldn't possibly be… Yes, she was…

She had gathered her skirt with the hand that wasn't clasping his, and slid off her chair to kneel at his feet. She grinned up at him "So… this is traditionally done on one knee, but as BOTH of my knees are still sporting bruises after climbing that wall the other day, they're just going to have to share the load. And besides, I believe I've already booted tradition out the window."

If Jack had been asked, he could not have said whether his heart was beating so fast that he couldn't feel it, or whether it had, in fact, stopped. He was absolutely dumbstruck. There was no way that she could be about to do what his brain now told him she was about to do. It had to be some kind of joke, although he hadn't thought her the type to make a fool of him over something so serious. Maybe he had somehow misinterpreted her actions. Maybe he was actually dreaming. Maybe…

"Jack…" she reached out with her other hand so that both of hers now encircled his left. "I've thought about this SO much that I'm surprised my head hasn't exploded!" She took a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

Being married to Phryne would be his dream come true, but this was no fairytale, and he couldn't just swoon and trust that they would live happily ever after.

He looked at her searchingly. "Why?... You've never agreed with marriage as a principle, and I've had to learn to live with that. What has changed?"

"You're right… of course… and you've got every right to question me… I…" she bit down on her lip, but she didn't appear concerned, she was just considering her words. "As you know, I haven't agreed with certain aspects of marriage as a legally binding contract, because I have never believed that any woman should, essentially, be the property of any man, to be treated as he sees fit. That being said… I KNOW you… and I know that you would NEVER raise a hand to me… and although you don't always agree with what I do, you do respect me."

"Of course." He brushed his thumb against the fingers that held his, and she went on, "Aside from that, I never imagined myself having a relationship that lasted a month, let alone a year, or longer. I never thought myself capable of actually living with a man, and having to be unselfish and make compromises… In the beginning – before there was an 'us' – but after I had realised that I had feelings for you… I struggled with even the idea of becoming involved with you. I felt like… I would be trapped… That, no matter what you said, I would have to change myself and my way of life just to be with you… and I didn't want that. But then one day I suddenly realised that I had always been free to go wherever life took me, and that life had brought me TO YOU. It hasn't all been roses, but overall it has been… wonderful.….. In the last year I've learned that being with you doesn't mean that I can't still do the things I want…within reason."

She continued, "And it's not just me that I've been thinking of. Since the end of the war I HAVE lived a very selfish life, but in the last two years… everything has changed, and now I can see how good that change has been. I never thought I'd be a mother, and I know that I'm not, in the traditional sense, but having Jane with me, and with US, has been…. an experience I'm awfully glad I've had. And I'm just her second mother… she's NEVER had a father… and seeing the two of you… you've become so…" she was smiling, but her eyes were shining with moisture. He understood, and it was true. At first, he had been apprehensive about what his relationship with Jane would be like. His only real experience with teenage girls was with his nieces, and as he and Rosie had never had children of their own, he had always been a little uncomfortable with them, and they with him in turn. It wasn't that they didn't like each other; it was just that there was no real connection between them. As a woman, Rosie had had no trouble bonding with all of his siblings' offspring, it had just been expected of her, but he had been left somewhat on the sidelines.

Although Phryne didn't strictly adhere to the norm of children being seen, but not heard, he and Jane hadn't spent a great deal of time in each other's presence. She had school, and friends; she had rarely dined with them; and Jack was often in the house when she had already gone upstairs for the night (although usually to read, rather than sleep). In the time they had spent together (in the same room, anyway), he had found her to be polite, sweet, and very intelligent, but he was still a little uneasy about what his place would be in her life.

It was Jane herself who had sensed his reticence, and made a determined effort to bring him into her world. She had latched on to his love of literature, his understanding of science and mathematics, his skill on the piano, and his musical knowledge in general. They had spent innumerable hours enthusiastically discussing any number of topics, and he had been pleased to be enlisted to help with her schoolwork. He had read lines with her for her part as Puck in the school's production of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', and his tutelage meant that Jane would at least be able to play the piano better than Phryne, who had come to it late in life, and hadn't the patience to become a truly good player (and, now that she had Jack to play for her on demand, she didn't appear to be much bothered). When Phryne was otherwise engaged, he had taken Jane, either alone or with friends, on various outings, and he had also had anxious moments waiting for her at tram stops when services had been delayed.

Early on, Jane had learned that the easiest way to ask him for a favour was to slide her arm across his shoulders as he relaxed in an armchair at night, and lean her plaited head against his. Much to Phryne's amusement, she had even taken to ruffling his hair, and retreating, squealing, at his mock outrage. Yes, Phryne wasn't the only female to have him wrapped firmly around her little finger. A year on, he was proud to FEEL like a father to this young woman who was becoming more like her wayward guardian every day. If he and Phryne were married, he supposed that, in a world where law was geared towards males, he would likely become Jane's primary guardian. Phryne would certainly have recognised this, and the fact that she was prepared to take second place to him touched him; after all, he had been the one to warn her of the difficulties she would face, and she had taken Jane on regardless.

"There are also our families and friends… I've never cared what other people think of me, but I DO care about what they think of you. Aunt P has only made one or two biting comments on our living arrangements, and I suppose that she's just glad that I've found ONE man to be happy with…" she grinned at him, "but I know that I'm a blot on her reputation, and I'm sure that it's the same for your family." Jack moved to speak but she stopped him, "Your family has been very understanding, but I know that this is not what they want for you. It must be hard for them… to try to explain to their own families… their friends... people at church…" There was nothing Jack could say in response; he knew it to be true.

"And then there's the financial aspect…" Jack looked a little pained as she went on, "I know that it's not important to you, and I'm sure that if I asked you, you would agree to have no part of that… but I WANT to share that with you… Not just SPENDING the money… I mean, I want you to do that too, to do what you like, maybe to do things for your family as well… But I want to show you the things I've done, and take you to the places I own… I want us to find new ways to invest it together…" She laughed, "You're a much better mathematician than I am!"

He chuckled, and she paused for a moment before going on. "But there is something else…" and she looked serious. "Your friend… Orla Murphy."

Orla Murphy? What on earth did she have to do with Phryne wanting to marry him? She was the widow of a fellow soldier, and Jack had promised the dying man that if he himself made it home, he would watch out for her. He had kept in contact with her, and did his best to make himself available if there was something she needed done. She was nice enough, but they weren't close, and she had a son whose behaviour grated on Jack's nerves. He itched to give the boy a clip, but he also supposed that if Fergus had lived, then he probably wouldn't have turned out this way… Then there was Orla's mother…

"I wouldn't exactly call her a friend... and you only met her once... I don't understand…"

She sighed gently as he looked at her in confusion. "Jack… really?... I've always thought you an intelligent man…" Now she was looking at him as if she were a teacher, and he a rather dim student. "She likes you."

Uhhh? "So she should. I don't think I've ever done anything–"

"Jack!... SHE. LIKES. YOU."

Oh. Finally he understood. But Phryne was surely mistaken. "What? Of course she doesn't. She just likes that I help her out."

Now she was looking at him in disbelief. "Jaaack… the three blind mice could see that she's rather miffed that once you finally got divorced, she's been overlooked in favour of a rich floozy!" He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't finished, "And your family is obviously well aware of her feelings, if their discomfort at the two of us being in the same room is anything to go by."

He could honestly say that he had NEVER entertained this possibility. Orla was pretty enough, an excellent cook, and she was known in her neighbourhood for being kind and generous… but his attraction to her was… non-existent He had certainly never encouraged her in any way. Just the thought made him feel uncomfortable… When had this happened? And why hadn't he seen it?

Until Phryne had entered into his life, Jack had not considered his own looks or presence in years. Of course, as a young man, he had been rather pleased to find that he did attract plenty of female attention, and even after he and Rosie had been married, he was still pleased to think that it had been a bit of a loss to some of the girls of his acquaintance. But being a soldier had eliminated any of the vanity he had once felt. He had spent years in filth, in ill-fitting clothes, with lice for bed-fellows, shaving with a blunt razor, the inside lid of a cigarette tin for a mirror. When he had come home, his appearance was determined less by what other people might make of it, and more by his own search for sanity. He had needed to feel clean-shaven, to comb and oil his hair just-so, to put on a crisp white starched shirt and collar, and a suit that was made just for him, shoes that actually fit, and a little individuality in his own choice of tie. All of these made him feel just that little bit more like a normal human being again.

Phryne's attentions made him feel, once again, that he was attractive to the opposite sex. Not just to her, but to other women as well (and, to his discomfort, also some men of her acquaintance). Wherever they went together, she seemed to project some kind of message that she was lucky to be in his company, and she had complete strangers casting envious looks in her direction. She also didn't hesitate to TELL him how attractive she found him, or tell her friends, his family, shop assistants, that lady walking her dog along the foreshore…

And then there was the fact that she seemed to have turned him into some sort of lothario. Only where she was concerned, of course, but the way they played their little games, and their frequent and inventive seductions of each other, he felt that she could have been a hundred women; each time was different.

This onslaught of attraction and lust had seemingly rubbed off on him. Whereas a couple of years ago he MIGHT have noticed that sometimes women smiled shyly at him, these days he DID notice women blushing furiously and stammering in his presence. He had the strangest feeling that the young woman in the bakery near the station had only started wearing blue regularly after he had made some offhand comment about liking the colour. And, only the other week, the assistant in Buckley & Nunn had actually started trembling after he had smiled at her as she wrapped his purchases in paper. He wondered if HE was now sending out some kind of unseen signal.

The effect of all this was that he felt really good about himself for the first time in over fifteen years. In fact, he even felt… ever so slightly… predatory. With Phryne he had learned exactly how to look at her, and speak to her, and touch her, to have her quivering and submissive in his arms if he wanted. With other women, it was simply a sense that he now had some sort of power that he could unleash if he chose to. And although Phryne was the only woman for him, much to her amusement he had found that his charms, like hers, had actually proved useful in his work, from time to time. He felt like a man again, and not some washed out excuse for one.

But he had never intended to have any sort of effect on Orla. And he had known her for eight years before he had even met Phryne. And he had seen far less of her in the last year or so; partly due to his time spent with Phryne, and partly because her son was definitely old enough to be helping his mother with things that Jack might have done in the past.

"Anyway," Phryne went on, "I know I had no reason… but I have to admit that she made me feel… rather… jealous."

"So…You want to marry me because you were jealous?"

"No… Yes… No!" She looked at him pleadingly, "It just made me realise… that the very fact that I WAS jealous…" She stopped, and started again, "It wasn't the first time… I'm sure you know that I was just a LITTLE jealous of Rosie… but you had just divorced her… and you're not a man to take a decision like that lightly, so I knew deep down that you would never go back to her… no matter how much she might want you to."

That was true. He and Phryne had never spoken about it, but things had certainly become even more complicated for him after that whole affair with George, and Sidney Fletcher. He felt that he hadn't actually encouraged her in any way, he had simply tried to do the right thing, but Rosie had clung to him for weeks afterwards, and he had sensed in her a vain hope that they might be reconciled. She had previously told him that he was a changed man these days, but, from his point of view, that very fact was what would always keep them apart.

Things had been amicable, if a little forced, between herself and Phryne, before that terrible night. It saddened him that now Rosie deeply resented Phryne. If Jack had never met her, he would probably not have changed so much, they would probably never have divorced, Sidney would never have targeted her as a surefire way to keep George in line once they were married, and probably both of their crimes would never have been discovered. On top of that, Phryne would not now be standing in her way. It would be hard for her, but Jack could only hope that one day she would come to terms with the entire situation, and realise that none of this was Phryne's fault. He knew that although Phryne didn't have much good to say about Rosie, she would make every effort to be civil to her; after all, Jack still considered her to be an aunt to his nieces and nephews, and she was Godmother to the children of some mutual friends. The only way they could avoid each other entirely was if one of them moved to another country. Even then, it was a small world, and knowing their luck they would cross each other's paths anyway.

Phryne was speaking again, "So, on that day when I met Orla… well, I felt horrible, even though I knew I shouldn't, and I realised that I might feel that way every time another woman expressed a real interest in you. And I don't want that. And I don't want you to feel that either. Well… you know… in relation to another man… Although," she grinned saucily at him, "there was a rather luscious cabaret dancer in Paris… she had the most incredible cleavage…" He raised a shocked eyebrow and she laughed, "Yes, well, perhaps a story for another time! What was I saying?... Oh, yes. I know that I told you that I would be yours, and yours only, for as long as we are together… but I want you to be as sure of that as you can be. Obviously we both know that marriage doesn't guarantee fidelity, but Jack… I promise you… I PROMISE you… that I will never be with another man – or woman – for as long as we are married… If I'm unhappy, I will let you know, and I'll expect the same from you… and we'll either sort it out, or go our separate ways… but I will never unfaithful to you."

She paused and took a breath. "I love you… but I can't promise you that we won't come to grief in the future... You know, as well as I, that life doesn't always turn out the way we hope…" He nodded his accord. This was something that he had given very careful consideration to since his divorce. It didn't matter if it were Phryne, or someone else; love and wishful thinking didn't translate to a happy life-long bond.

But he could see the truth of her commitment to him in her eyes, and he was deeply moved. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and speak, but she beat him to it. "Well, enough of the serious stuff. There are so many things I could say to you, but my knees can't take much more–" he looked apologetic, and she laughed before continuing.

"Right here and now I feel like this is what I want… And besides," she grinned, "it really is about time that I made an honest man of you!"

"So…" Once more she took that deep breath. "Jack Robinson… Will you do me the very great honour of agreeing to be my husband?"

Her eyes were shining, and she looked truly happy, and he was comfortable with her decision. What else could he say?

"I will."

xoxox

_tbc_


	12. Chapter 12

xoxox

Jack had woken in the dim coolness of their suite at The Hotel Windsor. Phryne was well known there (notorious even), due to her month-long stay when she had first arrived from England, but the two of them had also become known there as a couple. Sometimes because they didn't wish to disturb the household by arriving home slightly (or possibly more than slightly) inebriated in the early hours following a party. And sometimes just to be alone, because they didn't want to disturb the household in other ways…

It had been cold outside the warmth of the covers; when they had finally returned from Café Réplique Phryne had firmly stated that no, they didn't want a maid to light the fire in the morning. There had certainly been no need for the fires that had been burning in the rooms last night, but when he had made a brief foray into the icy bathroom Jack had considered telephoning down. Then again, he hadn't wanted Phryne to be woken by the activity, and he had thought it could probably wait until breakfast was brought up.

He hadn't needed to look outside to know that the view would be cold, rainy and windswept – the very best that Melbourne had to offer in July. When they were married surely it would be at a slightly less dreary time of year, and their anniversary would therefore fall during more pleasant weather. If not, they could always plan to have it somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere every now and then – he hadn't thought that Phryne would object to that.

Of course they had yet to make any sort of plans – they had both been a little overwhelmed at the Café, and upon their return to the hotel, actually discussing a wedding, or even setting a date, had been the last thing on their minds. Lying in bed the next morning, after waking surprisingly early, it was the only thing on his mind. Phryne had stirred and wriggled closer to him, so that her back rested along his legs and side, but she had remained silent, so he had simply moved his arm to rest along the top of her head, and returned to his musings.

In the cold light of day, would Phryne regret the promise they had made to each other? She had obviously put a lot of thought into it, but it had been a monumental step for her to take. She certainly wouldn't want to hurt him, but he had a niggling doubt that she would actually go through with it. Thinking about it, agreeing to it were all well and good, but how would she feel when they revealed their engagement to their families? To their friends? How would she feel when the world at large discovered that the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, footloose seductress, was planning on 'settling down'?

A lot of people might not agree with her rather loose morals, but those same people would probably be the ones to accuse her of abandoning her own principles. She might be bold, fierce, and strong, but she COULD be hurt. Then there were all the people of her own social standing who would voice their opinions on the match she had made for herself. She might say that she didn't care what other people thought, and he knew that she would loyally defend him, but she would undoubtedly feel pressure.

He had suddenly wondered what her parents would make of this legal union. From her written correspondence, which Phryne was in the habit of reading to him over breakfast, he had gleaned that her mother was a woman with whom he would likely get along quite well. She certainly seemed a slightly gentler woman than her sister, Prudence. Phryne's father never wrote, but from her own descriptions of him, and from what Jack knew of her childhood treatment at his hands, it was clear that the relationship between the two of them was at its best when they were at arm's length.

To Jack, the idea of marrying Phryne had always been fantasy, at best. So, he had never given any thought to what their wedding might be like if they were married. She might be a grown woman, but technically speaking, as long as she remained a spinster and her father lived, he was still responsible for her. Jack had certainly never considered that the Fishers might want their daughter to be married from their own home in Kent. Would Phryne want that, or agree to that? Or would she be happy for Mrs Stanley to represent her parents' interests? If that happened, he could only imagine what that lady's input might be.

For one thing, she was a devout woman. The church did not condone divorce, let alone re-marriage, but he was quite sure that Mrs Stanley would have no issue with applying the pressure (probably involving financial incentive) required to effect a religious ceremony. It wasn't unheard of; it just seemed to be one of those things that the wealthy did.

Unlike some of his compatriots who had found their faith during the war, Jack had lost his. Well, not entirely...but for him, since his return, church had only been a socially necessary interlude in which to reflect on his past and current life...or Shakespeare. To Rosie's (and the rest of his family's) consternation, he would take any excuse to avoid it and head off to the station. When she had moved out, he had stopped going altogether, until he had accompanied Phryne, who rarely attended of her own volition. Her participation in religion was largely confined to weddings, funerals, and, if pressed (usually by Aunt P), special services held by Jane's school. He had wondered how she might feel about being married in church; probably rather amused – after all, she might be a spinster, but she certainly wasn't a blushing virgin.

But he was sure that religion wouldn't be Mrs Stanley's only contribution to their nuptials. Phryne was the daughter of a baronet, and as her aunt had no daughters of her own, he could only imagine the spectacle that awaited him. He had only attended one wedding with Phryne in the last year, and it had seemed a complicated nightmare of colour co-ordinated flowers and serviettes, a giant and rather ridiculous looking cake, eight bridesmaids, ice sculptures and lobsters, and enough white lace to build a carnival big top. And hundreds of people whom he didn't know, probably didn't want to know, and who probably didn't want to know him. It had been about as far removed as he could imagine from the ceremony and breakfast reception of his wedding to Rosie; but was this what his second wedding would be like?

That wedding of several months ago had been in Melbourne; what would his own be like if it were arranged by Phryne's parents in Kent? Or, he had thought with horror, London?

Oh. Good. God. He needed to stop thinking and clamp down on his rising panic. It was Phryne – he would do absolutely anything at all if it meant that they would be husband and wife. He would row to England if he had to…

Just then Phryne had sighed deeply, and his earlier anxiety had immediately returned. She had changed her mind, realised her mistake. It was his desperate love for her that had had him decided – if she wanted to renege then he would let her, without any fuss, and he wouldn't hold it against her. They could move on; there was no point in prolonging her pain…

"What is it, Phryne?"

She had rolled over to meet his eyes with a grieved look on her face.

"Well, now that you've said 'yes'… I was just wondering… How on earth am I going to explain to Aunt P that the LAST thing I want is a huge society wedding?"

Jack had closed his eyes and laughed with relief, for more than one reason. Phryne had given his shoulder a rather firm nudge, and demanded "What are you laughing at?... You'll be there when I tell her…"

That had sobered him up immediately, but then he had snorted, and said "I'm pretty sure someone will be murdered that day… even if I have to do it myself…"

"Jack!" All right, he had probably deserved that punch, but his mood had been considerably lightened.

"Soooo… you still want to marry me?"

"What? Of course!... Awww, Jack," she had snuggled up close to him, "IF I change my mind I'll let you know… but I'm sure I won't…" and she had begun to kiss him in a way that brooked absolutely no argument.

Later, over breakfast, she had resumed her earlier topic with emphatic waves of her toast. "…all those people… WHO to invite will be a nightmare in itself… Then there's choosing a venue… Tableware… Food… Cake… Music… Flowers… What to wear… She'll probably do her best to convince me into something white and lacy. Hah! Can you imagine?"

"I… hadn't really thought about it…"

She had given him a sly look. "Is that so, Pinocchio?" and he hadn't been able to help the sheepish grin that had formed on his face.

"THEN, there's the fact that my parents might want to make an appearance…" A look of horror had crossed her face. "Now I understand exactly why some people choose to elope."

Their eyes had met, and they had both had the thought at the exact same moment, but she had been first to speak. "Perhaps… we could keep all this a secret?"

On the one hand, he had wanted to tell the entire world that Phryne wanted to marry him. On the other, given the anxieties each of them was having in regard to the event (and, of course, the lead-up), maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. It would also leave them with a lot less explaining to do if Phryne did decide to pull out. "Maybe we can keep it to ourselves for now, and if we change our minds…"

Without an engagement ring to hide, it had actually been remarkably easy. In Phryne's usual style, once the decision was made she had wanted immediate action. They had aimed for a date approximately six weeks later, which had allowed plenty of time for her solicitor to prepare a sheaf of legal documentation that Phryne felt ought to be ready prior to the date, a licence to be obtained, new clothing to be purchased, and Phryne's ring to be made.

Again, being Phryne, it was not going to be a stock-standard plain gold band; there were very specific requirements that had to be met. Firstly, she didn't see any point in having an engagement ring when she had been the one to ask for Jack's hand, so this ring would definitely contain sparkles. That being said, she had wanted it to be flat enough to be worn at all times under her gloves. And, due to her non-conventional activities, she also felt that it should be hard-wearing.

They had spent a night discussing it and drawing their ideas (the rejected ones immediately thrown on the fire so that they could not be discovered), and she had finally settled on a wide filigree band of white gold, diamonds inset to lie flat around the entire circumference, so that no matter how it was turned, its appearance was always the same. Her favourite jeweller had been commissioned and had assured her of his absolute discretion. The cost? Well, it had certainly induced a cold sweat in Jack; and that was before the ring had been made. When it was finished, Phryne had outright refused to try it on; given her past history with the jeweller she was confident of the fit, and instead had passed it immediately to Jack to 'keep in custody'. He had spent an extremely edgy eight days wearing rocks that would buy a small house on a chain around his neck. And if his colleagues had noticed that he had suddenly developed a nervous habit of touching his tie, none of them said a word (not even Hugh).

The two of them had thought long and hard over what to do for their honeymoon, and eventually settled on nothing at all; well, not nothing, but not a great deal. Most people were given a month's leave for a honeymoon, but most people only married once. If life was fair, perhaps Jack might have been due his long service leave several years before; after all, he had worked for the Victorian Constabulary for more than the requisite ten years. However, his employment had been interrupted by a pesky thing called a war, and government bureaucracy dictated that the ten years must be continuous. After all, laws were still to be kept, and there were men (such as George Sanderson) who had never enlisted, and did work continuously for those years that Jack had been fighting for his country and the Empire. He had therefore only become eligible last year, but at the time he and Phryne had been content to put it off (to his superior's annoyance – who didn't take their leave when it was due?). And, truth be told, as much as he had loved the idea of spending three months with her but not working with her, he had also been terrified that doing so might bring their relationship to grief; that she might decide she'd had TOO much of him.

Phryne pointed out that as money was no object, with three months up his sleeve they could do anything, or go anywhere, that he pleased. They had debated the subject and finally decided that they would prefer to use his leave to travel to England and France (as a minimum) sometime in the next year, with more time to prepare. 1931 would be Jane's final year at school, and she would probably welcome the opportunity to travel, with the two of them, before embarking on her university studies. Also, as they were to be married in secret, it seemed only fair that they make themselves available to family and friends in the aftermath. So it was that they had decided that Jack would take only a Friday and Saturday, so that they could have three days together in which to do nothing at all (or… whatever they pleased). Their 'appointment' at the Registry Office was for 11:15 am, so they would check in at the Windsor early that morning, spend the night, and return home (no doubt after a late lie-in) to share their news on the Saturday. IF Aunt Prudence had not let the cat out of the bag before they arrived...

Aunt P had had no idea that she was going to be one of the witnesses to their marriage; well, that had been the plan. Phryne's solicitor, Felix (yes, he was a friend she had known in London, but no, she hadn't KNOWN him), was to be the other witness. If things went awry, and Mrs Stanley refused, then the partner in his firm would be on standby to step in as the second. But Phryne had desperately hoped that her aunt would not make a fuss (too much of a fuss anyway, as no fuss at all was unlikely); if she only found out on the morning in question, she would not have the opportunity…

That morning was now here.

xoxox


	13. Chapter 13

xoxox

They had left for The Windsor as soon as both Dot and Mr Butler had left to run their usual errands. Phryne had told them that she and Jack had important business with her solicitor that day, and would probably stay in town that night, but she did not want to be seen carting their wedding clothes and effects to the car.

Now Jack was standing by the mantel, finishing a calming cup of tea (the calming effect may have been due to the half measure of brandy he had poured in before the tea). Phryne had just called out to indicate that she would be ready momentarily, so he retrieved his jacket and gave himself a last once-over in the mirror. His 'engagement diamonds' sparkled at his throat and wrists, his shoes were new enough to be immaculate, but worn enough to be comfortable, and his suit of the finest tailoring that Melbourne had to offer. He had expected to wear black, but Phryne had been able to steer him, without too much convincing, into a dark, bluish charcoal. His coat was of a fine, dark grey cashmere, his hat a matching tone. Of course he had had fittings, but now, alone, he suddenly became aware of how the colour of his suit brought out the blue of his own eyes. No doubt Phryne had been aware of the fact, but it wasn't the only reason she had persuaded him into the colour; he knew she would be wearing blue.

She came into the room just then, ready to leave but for her own coat, and came to stand in front of him.

She was wearing a suit of navy silk, the skirt tapering, then flaring slightly to flow around her calves as she moved. He knew that it was one of several that had been made for her on her last trip to Paris by the House of Chanel, and it amused him that two years ago he had never heard of Miss Chanel, but he was now able to identify her clothing by sight amongst Phryne's abundant wardrobe; she was an important figure in Phryne's world of fashion after all.

Dot had only recently made the cream-coloured blouse Phryne was wearing, at her mistress' request, but without knowing its intended use. Phryne had known exactly what she wanted, and had searched out and purchased the material herself. It was also silk, but of the smoothe, shiny texture of charmeuse, with a tiny pattern of grey at intervals across the fabric, the high collar of the blouse ending in long ties pulled into a bow at her throat.

Her gloves and Louis-heeled shoes (Hah! Another thing he wouldn't previously have known - the difference between Louis and Cuban heels) were navy kid, patterned in cream. Her cloche was navy felt, with a simple abstract design in cream, grey, and one swirl of apple green; that was a perfect complement THOSE jade earrings that swung below her shiny hair. On anyone else they would have been far too ostentatious to be worn on a wedding day; but she was Phryne Fisher, and she wore them with an élan that few possessed. Jack thought that she looked like she had just stepped from a fashion plate of one of those French magazines she loved to peruse.

She stepped close, and smoothed her hand down the front of his suit, before leaning in to slowly kiss him. "Are we ready to go?"

He looked at her searchingly for a moment, for any kind of uncertainty. Finding none, he answered in the affirmative, helped her into her coat (an immaculately tailored navy affair), and she applied a final slick of red to her lips. Then they headed down to the lobby to meet Felix (their backup), and the three of them took Phryne's car to her aunt's home (Phryne thought it best in case they needed a quick escape).

Mrs Stanley WAS expecting Phryne, who had last week requested that her aunt accompany her into town this morning to witness some important legal documents; she just had no idea yet of what those documents would be. They arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed meeting time, which Mrs Stanley was not expecting, so Phryne deposited Jack and Felix in the cream parlour, advised the maid to tell her aunt that her visitor had arrived (with specific instructions not to mention that there was more than one), and took herself upstairs to search out Arthur, who was on one of his day visits home.

She felt rather bad about removing his mother from the house on one of his visiting days, but it really couldn't be helped. After the business with Murdoch Foyle, and Arthur being suspected of Marigold's murder, and under Guy's (negative) influence, Mrs Stanley had come to the decision that she had reached an age where she could no longer care for her challenged son full-time. Phryne had made her opinions well known on Guy's idea to have him committed to an asylum, and eventually he had been placed into the same 'care home' as Jane's mother. In the time that Mrs Ross had been there so far, Phryne had found the staff competent and caring, which she felt, sadly, was probably rather unusual for one of those places.

The move there had been a terrible time for Arthur, being wrenched from his mother after all those years, to live amongst strangers, but it was a nice place, set in beautiful grounds, he had his own room with all of his things, and he had made some friends there. That being said, he delighted in being at home, and to have his cousin visit him there was even better. In truth, she felt guilty about his living arrangements; after all, if she had not brought Murdoch Foyle back into their lives, he would likely still be living at home. He unboxed the model aeroplane she had bought for him with glee, and listened, rapt, as she took him through its specifications.

Mrs Stanley was a little nonplussed when she entered the parlour to find not her niece, but the Inspector (she still called him that), and her niece's solicitor, whom she had met previously. Jack didn't miss the once-over she had given his outfit, astonished, admiring, and confused, but she greeted them politely, before launching into an interrogation. "What's going on, Inspector? Is my niece in some sort of trouble?"

Jack took a kind of perverse delight in riling Aunt P, and it wouldn't hurt her, so he flashed a look at Felix, before answering "Well, yes, some sort of trouble…" Mrs Stanley's hand went to her chest, and he saw the solicitor's moustache twitch as he tried to maintain a straight face.

"She hasn't been… arrested… has she?"

Should he go on?... Phryne would forgive him. "Not lately…"

"NOT LATELY?" The other hand was now hovering between her chest and her mouth as she stammered "I wasn't aware that she…"

Jack interjected, "Oh yes, well it was a while ago now… I can't speak for any other officers of the law, but I've personally arrested her for… let's see… 'Break and Enter'…"

"BREAK AND ENTER?"

"…and 'Assaulting a Police Officer'…"

"ASSAULTING a…" the poor woman looked absolutely aghast, and as she literally could not find the words to continue, Jack thought he'd best put her out of her misery.

"Well, as Phryne herself pointed out, the 'Break and Enter' would never have stuck, as the window WAS open…" Mrs Stanley closed her eyes, "and she did follow someone else into the premises." She opened them again when he continued "Oh, and then there was the second time...", her eyes widened, "when the owners didn't want to press charges against one of their best customers, who had also happened to stumble across a dead body on their premises..." Felix smothered a laugh in a cough, and Jack forged ahead, "And as for the 'Assault', the police officer in question was me… and she was under some stress at the time… Jane having been kidnapped by Murdoch Foyle. So I thought it best to just forgive her… Although… the bruise took a couple of weeks to disappear…" He nodded thoughtfully at her.

"I see." She breathed out a long breath and smoothed both her hands down the tops of her legs, to rest on her knees. "I–"

Just then Phryne entered the room. "Aunt P! Sorry, I was just upstairs visiting Arthur. You DO look well today! Are those new shoes? Very à la mode!" She kissed the flustered woman's cheek, before taking a seat to Jack's left, and reaching for his hand. He thought he ought to explain, before Phryne launched into her intended topic, "We were just discussing your arrest record…"

"Hah! Well… from now on I'm going to have to do my very best not to get arrested…" and she gave Jack a meaningful look, "that WOULD be embarrassing!"

Her aunt had recovered slightly, and her imperious tone was returning. "From now on? I rather think–"

Phryne interrupted before she could go any further. "Yes, that is… now that I'm going to be a police officer's wife."

The light dawned on Mrs Stanley's face as she looked between the three of them, but once again she was lost for words, so, before she could find any, Phryne jumped up from her seat and ploughed on, "You ARE happy for me aren't you, Aunt P? I knew you would be! After all, Jack may not be rich, or have a title, but no-one could possibly object! He's kind, and intelligent, hardworking… He takes such good care of me… and he'll be a WONDERFUL father to Jane, don't you think so?" She now had both of her aunt's hands between hers, "Isn't it AMAZING?"

To her credit, Mrs Stanley had regained her composure, and moved to speak, "I–", but Phryne was not going to let her get a word in. "I wanted to keep it a secret from everyone – imagine what fun it would be to elope!" A look of horror crossed Mrs Stanley's face, and her mouth opened, but she didn't get anything out, "– but Jack thought at least someone in my family should know… And, Aunt P, you're the only close family I have on this continent, and you and I get along very nicely… You're the only one we've told… I'm so glad that you're here!"

Jack remembered Phryne telling him that Mrs Stanley's godson, Roland Claremont, had known how to pick a target; clearly he wasn't the only one. Her aunt was now looking at her with some pride. "Well… of course I'm here for you my dear… but this is all a bit of a shock…"

Phryne's tone turned no-nonsense. "Jack and I are going to be married today. At 11:15 at the Registry Office. No matter what. Just so that there can be no future question of my intentions, Felix will be a witness. I sincerely hope that you will be the other."

Mrs Stanley was caught between a rock and a hard place. As far as society was concerned, it was not a good marriage to be made… but her niece was right. Jack Robinson was a good man, and on the couple of occasions she had met his family, they had seemed quite respectable. He had already proven himself to be an excellent father-figure to Jane, and his presence in Phryne's life had silenced the previous chatter on her constant stream of 'suitors'. Phryne may have been headstrong, but she was an intelligent and self-reliant girl who would not have taken such a step without serious consideration. If she said they were to be married today, there was no way the Prudence was going to be able to put a stop to it. Wouldn't it be better if her family were represented? But how on earth was she going to explain this to her sister and that no-good husband of hers? Well, in truth, her sister would probably think it rather romantic, since she herself had flouted family tradition and society to marry that worthless so-and-so. He had just been extremely lucky that several young men had died and cleared his path to wealth…

Prudence sighed in resignation. "Very well, dear… but… the Registry Office? What on earth are we going to put on the notice? Have you thought about that? Why couldn't you have waited, and been married in church? Or HERE at the very least…"

Phryne smiled a calming smile, "It will just have to say 'at Melbourne', without an address. Really, Aunt P, the place is not at all important to me, only the fact that it's happening. I know that you must be disappointed at the timing, but I don't want to wait any longer… AND," she flicked a look at Jack, "we were hoping that you might do us the honour of hosting a little celebration once it has been announced… Or perhaps two – one for society, and one for the people we actually care about." She waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Of course we'll pay for everything."

That had Mrs Stanley returning to form. "Nonsense! No niece of mine is going to pay for her own reception!" She stood, and readied herself for action. "Well… I suppose I ought to put my hat on, and say goodbye to Arthur…"

xoxox

_I felt that I absolutely had to say something about Arthur, since the script writers seem to have forgotten him entirely. Fair enough that the English actor who played him wouldn't be making another appearance, but not one word has been uttered to explain his complete absence from what we've seen of Aunt P's life in Season 2. Don't get me wrong, this is my all-time favourite TV show, but sadly it's just one of a myriad of things that has been conveniently brushed under the carpet this season. But I just can't help adoring it still. Rant over xo_

_P.S. The wonderful thing about a wedding day is the wedding day smut. You've been warned._


	14. Chapter 14

xoxox

Phryne drove them back to town, rather more sedately than was her norm, with the occasional squeeze to Jack's hand, resting on the seat beside her. The trip was passed in relative silence, although Mrs Stanley did make comment on her niece's unusual choice of earrings. Weren't they a little… flamboyant for such an occasion? Phryne had simply responded that she didn't think so… Jack had bought them for her… And just in case her aunt hadn't noticed, she had flicked her hair aside and pointed out the mounts of onyx and diamonds… Weren't they BEAUTIFUL?... Her aunt could only grudgingly agree that they were, and that if they weren't everyone's idea of wedding attire, they did suit Phryne very well. And that they must have been very expensive. She didn't ask how he had been able to afford them. Jack smiled smugly behind the hand that was propped against his jaw.

Coats deposited in the cloakroom, they were seated in the waiting area by 10:50, with several other couples and attendant witnesses. The occupants of the room varied wildly in class, nervousness, and, to Mrs Stanley's disapproval, states of impending motherhood. Jack noticed her look around the room, and try to regain her composure, probably whilst wondering why on earth she had agreed to this.

Phryne and Felix were chatting amiably, recounting some London exploits, and Jack was happy to be left in his own world for a moment. Phryne didn't seem at all nervous, so why was he? Well, there was always the possibility that she was hiding her feelings, and that they might get in there and that she might not go through with it – she was given to impetuous decisions, after all. But his anxiety stemmed mainly from his own ability to be a good husband to her. He loved her with every breath in his body, but did that mean he was going to be able to keep her happy day in, day out. Would he ever be able to live up to her social standing, and mix with her peers without feeling like a complete outsider? She had done it, but she was a force of nature, and few people could withstand her barrage of charm, when applied. He supposed that there were still those whom he'd met amongst Mrs Stanley's circle who avoided Phryne simply because she was 'new money', and that there would always be those who would avoid him. Those were the kind of people he didn't want to get to know anyway, and many of the people he'd met had been rather nice. Charles Freeman had certainly gone out of his way to smoothe Jack's path with those he knew, and even Mrs Freeman (no doubt with some prompting from both of her sons) had become an ally.

But his doubts weren't all regarding his performance. He had thought that Phryne would probably not want to take on the usual social responsibilities of being a police officer's wife; after all, her calendar was fairly full as it was. When he thought about it though, he realised that although they might be below her social station in life, they were exactly the sort of things that she WOULD want to get involved with. The cake stalls – she couldn't cook, but that didn't mean she couldn't BRING cake, and she was an excellent fundraiser. Taking turns to clean up around the Police Association clubrooms – she might pay people to do her own cleaning, but she wasn't above getting her own hands dirty for common good. Helping out the wives of officers killed in the line of duty – she was a charitable soul, and she was also a firm believer that not enough was done for such women. Besides all which, in time, Dot would no doubt become a member of that 'club'; and if the other women didn't like Phryne, then quite frankly, Jack didn't give a damn. She would certainly liven up the annual Police Association Ball… especially after what had happened with Matheson.

Detective Inspector Robinson and Detective Inspector Matheson had been rivals, of a sort, since they had each joined the force at the beginning of the same year. Cyril Matheson had always rubbed Jack the wrong way – the man was a rude, unkempt bully, whom Jack would not trust as far as he could spit. Whilst Jack had climbed his way through the ranks through hard work and determination, Matheson had done the same by licking the boots of his superiors, beating innocent men into confessions, and greasing palms. Their dislike of each other seethed beneath the surface of every conversation it was their misfortune to have.

Several months ago, following a Police Association meeting, Jack had made a move to leave for home with Hugh in tow (he was taking Dot for ice-cream). They were just saying their goodbyes to a few of Jack's more favoured colleagues, when Matheson and his cronies had appeared. Earlier in the night Jack had objected strongly to a subject raised by Matheson, and the discussion had become heated, to say the least. Jack hadn't been the only one to object, but Matheson always tried to get one up on him, and he and his fellows had obviously stopped for a few preliminary beers before joining the meeting that evening. Apparently he had come to finish the argument.

Jack had also had a few beers over the course of the meeting, and he wasn't exactly on top of his game, but there was no way he was rising to the bait. He had hastily finished up and turned to go, but Matheson wasn't going to let him without riling him further. "Come back here and say it to my face, you gutless fuck…" Jack was having none of it, but Matheson had followed them, and was close at his heels. And an audience was gathering; their rivalry was well known. "Go on, then, Robinson, run on home to the skirts of that toff-y tart of yours." Jack stopped in his tracks. Normally he didn't let things like that get under his skin, but tonight… tonight he'd had enough. He closed his eyes briefly, before turning back to Matheson. Hugh's eyes had turned to saucers, and he had nervously taken a step away.

Jack had measured his words carefully. "You know what, Matheson, bakery is a science…" the man had looked confused and laughed. "A tart is a pastry that may take many hands to make, but each one of those adds something of themselves to it, gives it special attention, until, eventually, it becomes a masterpiece, compared to, say, an apple pie… Finger… licking… perfection…" and Jack had held up his fingers in accompaniment to his words, in an obscene gesture that had a couple of men whistling in appreciation. He had smiled that smug 'I've got you now, you bastard' smile that he usually reserved for felons of the worst kind. "I'm perfectly happy with my tart – why don't you run on home to your apple pie…"

Matheson wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had understood the gist of Jack's words and actions. Jack had been expecting the punch that was levelled at him, and had side-stepped neatly to land one clean on Matheson's jaw, knocking him down to hoots of derision from the assembled mob. Not a man there could say that Matheson hadn't taken the first swing, and Jack had turned and walked away without a backward glance, leaving his antagonist to be hauled from the dust, to jeers and laughter. Later that night, when Phryne had asked why his hand appeared to be hurting, he had waved it away as nothing. Of course he should have known better; Hugh had been there after all.

Two nights later, following dinner, Phryne had brought in a covered dish from the kitchen and opened the lid to reveal a pie filled with what appeared to be caramel, and nuts. Her mouth had quirked as she had looked at him. "It's a toff-ee tart – I've heard you rather like them…"

They had both laughed as Phryne had recounted Hugh's version of the events, which wavered between idolatry and bemusement. Although he was a little too innocent to fully understand Jack's words and actions, he had realised that they had referred to something indecent enough not to be spoken of in Dot's presence, and he had gone more than a little red when Phryne had pressed him to repeat exactly what he had witnessed; Hugh had never known the Inspector to act like that before. But that clean right hook… he was impressed. As much as Phryne didn't like anyone else to fight her fights for her, she was rather proud of Jack's defence of her, and he recalled that later that night, she had more than compensated him for the injury to his hand…

In the time since then, Jack had received more than a few pats on the back from his colleagues over that incident, but he knew that, no matter the circumstances, the days of he and Matheson being able to share a civilised conversation were over. From now on, each would be avoiding any case involving the other, at all costs. That being said, as long as they both remained members of the Police Association, there was no way of entirely avoiding him, his circle of 'friends', and their wives. He and Phryne would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

Jack caught movement in his peripheral vision, and looked up to see a young clerk come into the waiting area, to read from a list in his hand.

"John Robinson."

He had to admit that it was always a little strange to hear his birth name spoken aloud. Of course he wrote it constantly on official documents, but his family and friends had always called him Jack, nearly every John he knew went by the name Jack, and he himself had become used to saying 'Detective Inspector Jack Robinson' many years ago. It had only really been voiced at school, during army roll call, and by the occasional colleague who didn't know him. And, of course, the last time he had been married…

He took a deep breath and stood, putting out his left hand to take Phryne's, while Felix helped Mrs Stanley to her feet. The four of them followed the clerk down a hallway, but when he turned in through a doorway, Jack pulled Phryne to the side and motioned for the others to continue.

"Phryne… are you absolutely sure that you want to do this? Because if you don't, it doesn't matter, we can walk away from here right now… I'll understand. Is this what you really want?" He squeezed her fingers and smiled at her reassuringly, and she looked back at him with utter confidence. "Yes, I'm sure it is… so let's go in." She pulled on his hand, but turned back to smile at him again, "And thank you for asking…"

Having already experienced one marriage in church, Jack was astonished by how quickly it was all over. After a brief lecture from the Registrar-General on the sanctity of marriage, which he felt was rather pointedly aimed at he, the divorced male, rather than his spinster bride (if only the man knew!), it was only a matter of minutes before he had placed the ring on her finger, and they had shared a brief kiss under the disapproving gaze of the Registrar and his clerk – Jack wondered that they weren't used to such things by now (then again, he supposed that the majority of marriages bound under this roof had very little to do with love). The four of them had put their signatures to paper, and were soon being directed to leave by another door. If only his divorce had been so effortless…

Outside, Felix congratulated them both heartily, kissed Phryne's cheek, and moved to stand slightly away. Phryne said "Oh look, Aunt P…" and pointed vaguely down the road, causing that lady to turn away, at which point she flung her arms around Jack's neck and kissed him soundly. When Jack looked up, Mrs Stanley was still half-turned away, but her mouth had twitched into a smile. He was smiling too, until she turned back to them and said "Well… I expect we ought to find some lunch!" Phryne blanched, but he tugged on her fingers and smiled at both ladies. Nothing was going to spoil his day today. If his new wife's aunt wanted to share lunch with them on their wedding day, so be it. Phryne smiled back at him sympathetically, before replying "Perhaps we could have lunch brought up to our suite… at The Windsor… after all, we don't want to be spotted and have everyone in town knowing before my own household… and you are so well known, Aunt." Mrs Stanley preened under the perceived compliment, and it was agreed. However, first there were two other matters to be dealt with.

Firstly, Felix obliged them by using Phryne's camera to take several photographs of the happy couple, Phryne and her aunt, and then the three of them. People didn't tend to smile in their wedding photographs; marriage was a serious business, and it just wasn't done. Phryne nearly always smiled in any photograph, she just couldn't seem to help herself, and Jack now found that her smiles were infectious. Aunt P, however, was the very essence of composure, and no amount of giggling and jostling would see her wearing anything other than a straight face.

Secondly, now that the deed was done, Phryne thought it best that they immediately put signatures to all of the documents the solicitor had been preparing over the past weeks, so Felix extended his arm to Mrs Stanley, and the newlyweds followed them to his office on Collins Street. That accomplished, they bade the solicitor farewell, returned for the car, and made the short trip around to the hotel.

Lunch was spent in light conversation, during which Aunt Prudence inspected the ring thoroughly, and voiced her approval (although not, of course, until the price had been disclosed). They had discussed the engagement, and she had reacted the expected amount of horror at the thought of her niece proposing to a man, and stated that she would never understand, despite Phryne's detailed reasoning behind the act. "Really, Aunt P, Jack is many things, but he's not a mind reader… How was he supposed to know that I wanted to marry him, when he had so often heard me say that I wasn't the marrying kind?" It appeared that Aunt Prudence would not be swayed from the opinion that, yes, he probably should have read her mind.

Her next words were a shock to them both, and Jack was not entirely successful at hiding his surprised laugh. "What are the two of you planning on doing for the rest of the day?" He could well believe that Prudence had only ever received Edward in her own bed, between certain hours of darkness. The idea of anyone 'having relations' during the afternoon was probably beyond her imagining. Phryne named the first thing that came into her head, in which her aunt would never wish to participate "We were thinking of going to Luna Park to ride the Scenic Railway. It's very romantic…" Her aunt looked suitably horrified, and wondered aloud at 'young people's' ideas of celebratory activities; Jack excused himself to go and laugh in the privacy of the bathroom.

Some time later, when the room telephone rang to advise that Mrs Stanley's driver had arrived to collect her, Jack and Phryne also donned their coats and hats and saw her to her car, with a promise to collect her on their way home tomorrow. As they waved her off, Phryne laughed as Jack explained that the Scenic Railway probably wasn't an option following the champagne and lobster mayonnaise he had consumed over lunch. However, a little perambulation wouldn't hurt, so they spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering hand-in-hand through Fitzroy Gardens, interspersed with tea taken at the kiosk, and sitting quietly on a bench, his arm around her, listening to music filtering through the trees from the direction of the bandstand. When Phryne had nudged him gently and said "Isn't this perfect?" he had to agree (with kisses) that indeed it was.

xoxox


	15. Chapter 15

xoxox

They took a meandering route back to the hotel, stopping for Phryne to compose, and send, a brief cablegram explaining her changed circumstances to her parents.

Dearest Mother & Father STOP Jack & I have been married this morning (Friday) STOP Aunt P in attendance STOP Details to follow by letter STOP Expected home Monday STOP Much love Phryne STOP

She had no desire to say any further on the matter until such private information was concealed from nosy lookers-on by a sealed envelope. And no doubt, whatever details she did later relate to her parents by mail, they would be augmented in abundance by Aunt Prudence's own correspondence to them. She had lied about their arrival at home, but felt it was necessary. She had no idea how they were going to respond, and although, even taking Sunday into consideration, it was entirely possible for them to receive her missive in Kent, formulate and send a response well prior to Monday, she would be expected to reply immediately, of which she had no intention.

She had briefly, briefly, considered using the brand new overseas radiotelephone service to contact them, but no. She was all for progress, but it was so newly established that it was plagued by delays and connection problems. She had used it once, a couple of weeks ago, to telephone Véronique Sarcelle, and found the experience nightmarish; that was not how she wanted to spend the afternoon (or weekend, come to think of it) of her wedding. Sure, the connection to France had required first connecting to England, but that had been problematic enough. She had had to be re-connected several times as the line failed, she disliked having to practically shout to be heard, and it was very difficult to hold a conversation full of long, dead silences as their voices travelled around the other side of the world. And anyway, her father hated using the telephone even more than Dot, and that was only when he was speaking to his 'friends' on some neighbouring estate. Although at least if the conversation degenerated into argument, she could just put down the handpiece and pretend the connection had dropped out…

Back in their suite, public appearances over for the day, they both shrugged out of their coats and jackets, and Phryne poured Jack another champagne, before removing his diamonds, along with his tie, and rolling his cuffs up his forearms. He caught hold of the silken ties at her throat, and was suddenly taken back to that day in the football stand when he had looped his scarf around her neck. That day, at that moment, he had seen a dawning realisation in her eyes, her love for him, without the usual seductive, flirtatious glint that accompanied it, and for the first time he had had a faint glimmer of hope for their future. Kissing her had been a fantasy then; now he didn't hesitate. But when he tugged at the ties, and her collar fell open, she mouthed "Uh-uh" against his lips, pushed him into a chair, and retreated into the bathroom, after telephoning for a maid.

Jack took the opportunity to sit back and close his eyes for a few moments. Then, on reflection, he sat back up to remove his shoes and socks. After all, there was nothing romantic in having to pause in the heat of the moment to unclip and remove one's sock garters. He'd rather take the time to do it now – less potential for painful loss of leg hairs – and there were things he'd much rather be doing with his hands when Phryne was in reach.

He leaned back again and smiled in satisfaction as he thought about some of those things; and some of the things Phryne could do with hers. In the last year-and-a-bit he'd certainly learned a lot under her guidance. It had happened on a regular basis since, in slightly varied positions, but he could still clearly remember the first time that Phryne had climbed into his lap as he sat up in bed, that first week they had been together, and declared that it was her turn to be on top. It had been an eye-opener for him; not something Rosie would have considered doing. And she would definitely have found the giving (and receiving) of oral pleasure to be distasteful, if not unclean. Phryne's initial attempt on him had very quickly come to the inevitable conclusion; thankfully, since then he had learned far better control. He had been wary of returning the favour, but, over time, and with a little prompting, it was a skill he had honed to perfection.

In his time with Phryne he had also discovered that he rather liked to watch; not anyone else, but himself, with her. It had started with him flat on his back, she arched back on top of him. He had placed his hand flat on her lower abdomen, and suddenly he had almost seen himself inside her, felt he could almost touch himself where his palm pressed. Then, that first time that she had encouraged him to enter her as she kneeled in front of him, the sight of his own length sliding in and out of her slick folds had been almost too much to bear. Nowadays, the same action brought a primal growl to his throat as his hands gripped the rounds of her hips and buttocks. He was not averse to leaning forward to kiss her back, fondle her swaying breasts, or dip his fingers between her trembling thighs, but his favourite moments in this particular position were always when he was back straight, looking down at where they joined. Speaking of looking, Phryne certainly wasn't shy of mirrors either...

Jack's attention was brought back to the present by the maid leaving with a polite smile and a blush to her cheeks – she was obviously in no doubt as to their intentions for the remainder of the day. He sat in silence for a few moments more, before Phryne emerged from the bedroom – and his breath immediately caught in his throat.

She was entirely free from makeup, but scented with something light and floral, and she was wearing an ivory charmeuse silk négligée that fell fluidly down her body, the fabric shining like liquid on her every curve. Her bare toes were only just exposed as she walked, and the longer hemline at the back trailed out on the floor behind her. The design was deceptively simple; no lace, no embroidery or beading – just the silk. Jack stood as she came towards him, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he drank in the sight of her. She was smiling gently, but her fingers were twisting nervously – why was she nervous?

"What do you think?" She twirled on the spot, and the reason for the maid became apparent. The fabric of the front was kept smoothe and tight by the gathering that began at the V mid-way down her back. It would be up to Jack to undo every one of those pearlised buttons that ran down her spine, and continued down the crease between her buttocks to end at a point part-way down her thighs. He didn't think it would be a problem, but his mouth had gone dry nonetheless.

"Breathtaking…" What else could he say? He reached out to take those twisting fingers in his, and was astonished to find that the wringing of her hands was apparently designed to mask their trembling.

"Phryne…?" It was a gentle query, and she stepped a little closer, and looked up at him through lowered lashes. Once again he was taken back to that day at the football. As she gazed up at him with those doe-eyes, there was not the faintest trace of seductress in her face; she appeared soft, in a way that he couldn't define, almost shy.

"Jack… I know that I'll never be… a conventional wife… but I hope to be a GOOD wife to you…"

Jack was momentarily overcome, and he bent to press a kiss into her black cap of hair. It had only just really hit him – this beautiful, sparkling, fearless woman, the great love of his life, the balm to his wounded soul, was his wife. HIS wife. And she had sacrificed the freedom she had fought for, to place herself in his hands. She was trusting IN HIM, as she had never trusted anyone else, to care for, love, and protect her, always, and never to crush her spirit, as others had tried. He loved her in a way he simply could not articulate, and as he pulled back from her, he tried to tell her with his eyes, what he could not form with words. She returned his look with one of girlish, innocent joy and wonder, then reached up on her tip-toes to share a long, soft kiss, full of all the promise of their newly entwined future.

"Now," Jack stepped back just a little, and gave her a knowing look, "this is our wedding day, and there's something that we have to do together," his look turned flirtatious and her eyes twinkled in response, "right now." Her eyes widened slightly, and a grin formed on her face, which turned into a laugh as he put out his hand for hers, and said "After all, what is a wedding day without a dance?" He tugged her towards the gramophone, selected a slow waltz, and drew her close, her head nestled beneath his chin as her fingers found the nape of his neck, and his hands met at the line of buttons on her spine.

By the end of their second dance, Phryne had managed to unbutton both his waistcoat and his shirt, and he'd been happy to let her, but when her clever fingers insinuated themselves beneath his singlet, it was his turn to mouth "Uh-uh" and pull away from her. Her pout turned to a delighted laugh as he bent and scooped her into his arms, the silk flowing like a waterfall over his arm as he made for the bedroom door. He deposited her gently on the bed, and she somehow managed to pull his singlet over his head. She watched him with a mixture of lust and bewilderment as he moved back and beyond her reach, and stripped his remaining clothes from his body.

He climbed onto the bed with her and bent, on all fours, to meet her mouth, but when she reached for him again he caught her hands in his, and pinned them gently to her sides. She seemed to understand, and did not make another attempt, but she sighed, and arched into his hand, as his fingers brushed her nipples where they strained against the ivory fabric. He was already hard with his need for her, but his needs would have to wait. As far as the law was concerned, she was now his to do with what he pleased; and what he pleased was to make love to her as even he had never done before. He kissed her again, before grasping her hip and rolling her onto her stomach, exposing the line of buttons.

He untangled the silk from her feet, and drew it up her calves, and beyond, so that he could push a knee between her thighs without stretching the fabric too far. The first kiss he pressed to the back of her neck, where her neatly trimmed hair came to a fine V, and then he moved his fingers down her back to twist the top button from its silken loop. They moved up again to brush the vertebra below his first kiss, and it was there he placed the second; then again down to the second button.

He continued in this fashion, one kiss, one button, and she shivered as his fingertips caressed her ribs, his lips met her spine, and his tongue flickered across her heated skin. The liquid fabric fell away slowly on each side, and he pressed his mouth and nose into the creamy curves of her buttocks as they were revealed; and still he followed the line downwards. As his breath tickled the curls between her thighs she gasped, and wriggled, but he would not touch her there; not yet. But they were slick with moisture, and he could not suppress a moan as he inhaled the musky scent that was hers alone.

The final button released, and his mouth having sought out the inside of each of her thighs, he flicked the silk down, lifted her legs at the knees, and sent it over the side of the bed. He then used her bent knees to turn her onto her back, and kissed her bee-stung lips, her neck, breasts, stomach, and again the insides of her thighs, before turning his attention to what lay between.

Men made bawdy jokes about women being like the hairy clams that were dragged from the ocean floor. Phryne had once told him that those jokes were more accurate than most men might consider, for a woman was like an oyster, and there was a pearl hidden in those plush folds; but a pearl's true lustre would not be revealed until it was polished. She gasped now as his tongue found its target, one hand reaching down to grasp his hair, the other flung above her head. Her back arched, her breathing quickened, and her hips twitched involuntarily beneath him. But he held her fast, and soon he heard that sound, that change in her breathy whimpers that told him she was close.

He pulled away without warning, caught her hand in his, and kissed the palm, and each of her fingers. She grabbed for him and he let her pull him to her mouth, and he kissed her slowly and deeply. He ran his hands down her freckled body, and to her surprise, resumed his position between her bent knees. Now both of her hands twisted in the bedcovers, and her legs trembled uncontrollably with her need. She was panting hard, and begged him for release, begged him to enter her, for anything that would end the sweet agony.

But again he pulled away, ran his hands down her legs, and took each of her feet in turn and kissed their tops, then her ankles. Then the insides of her knees, the tops of her thighs, her stomach, and back to her mouth. It was only when her breathing had calmed that he lay stomach-to-stomach with her and pressed into her heat. He moved torturously slowly, braced slightly away from her, and she tried, in vain, to pull him closer. Again he brought her right to the brink, before halting abruptly, and feathering the tiniest of kisses to her lips, her cheeks, and her temples. When he whispered "I love you, Phryne" against her swollen lips, she looked up at him in a kind of awe. She tried to speak, but her voice was hoarse with her desperation. She brought her hands up to trace the contours of his face, and he kissed her fingertips again, before twining his fingers through hers, and pressing her hands down beside her head; he held them there as he began to move inside her once again.

There was only so long he could maintain control for the two of them; this time there would be no holding either of them back. A sob tore from her as she clenched hard around him, and she cried out again, and again, as her tremors brought him to his own release. As he buried his face in her sweetly-scented neck, he felt moisture there; not sweat, but tears upon her skin.

xoxox


	16. Chapter 16

xoxox

After, she had been unusually quiet; even when the darkness had come, and she had pulled him to her again. She had been overcome with emotion that she had, for the most part, seemed incapable of sharing; Jack understood – he himself was feeling both exhilarated and fragile. As they had lain together, her leg flung across his body, the fingers of his left hand raking gently through her hair, she had said "Jack… earlier… that was… I can't…" He had felt her shake her head against him, and then her hands had come from the darkness to caress the contours of his face. "I'm sorry that I couldn't say it before… I love you too…" and she had bent her head over his to kiss him deeply.

Late in the night, they had arisen to procure food and the champagne bucket, and having returned to the sheets, he had asked "Can I tell you something silly?"

"Of course." She had slid down and around to fold her arms across his chest, and prop her chin there so that she could meet his eyes in the lamplight.

"I've often thought… that you are like an exotic bird that just happened to fly in and land amongst the chickens." She had laughed, but it was gentle, not unkind, and he had gone on, "I was a dusty old rooster… you know, the beaten-down looking one with the broken feathers, left alone down the back of the yard. And in you came," he had stroked her glossy locks as he spoke, "beautiful, and graceful, and so sure of yourself… You stirred everything up… And in spite of everything… you chose me."

She had looked at him with a satisfied and affectionate smile, and had reached up to brush back the wayward locks of hair curling into his eyes. "I guess now… you're the cock of the walk!" He had had to laugh at that, but he had been a little embarrassed to think of himself in that way. She wasn't finished though, "You know, any time you feel like jumping on and ruffling my feathers, feel free…" That had had them both laughing out loud, and he reaching to kiss her.

When they had calmed a little, she had looked sheepish, and said "Continuing with the bird metaphors, can I tell you something… well, not silly, just… well… maybe silly, but in a different way?"

"Uh-hmmmm…"

"Well… I used to think… that being married would be like being a bird put into a cage… and I could never be like that… and of course for some people it definitely IS like that… But at some stage I came to realise…" she squeezed his fingers, "that you have only ever tried to keep me safe, you've never tried to stop me from flying… Being married to you is not a cage… you're my safe place to roost." She had gazed at him in absolute adoration, and his eyes had become suspiciously moist as he had returned her look.

They had turned off the lamp and fallen asleep, his nose at her neck, the fingers of their right hands entwined at her belly.

He had woken in the morning to find that she had been back to her cheeky, seductive self as she had slid her hands up his chest and positioned herself in his lap. Later, she had chatted animatedly over breakfast, between an abundance of kisses, and after a long, lazy morning spent tangled in each other's arms, Phryne had telephoned the house and informed Mr Butler that they would be bringing Mrs Stanley home with them; they had concluded an important business deal, and if the Bert and Cec were around, perhaps they would like to join in a celebratory light lunch with the household? Maybe she would also telephone Doctor MacMillan and find out if she were free… Mr Butler had suggested that he and Dorothy could prepare some sandwiches and other finger foods; he was sure that Mr Johnson and Mr Yates would be pleased to join in.

Phryne had wanted to hold on to yesterday's excitement for just a little longer, so they had assumed their wedding clothes once again, with the exception of a clean shirt for Jack – and his waistcoat and trousers had needed pressing following their night spent rumpled on the floor. Her eyes had been sparkling and her steps light as she gave a final twirl in front of the entry mirror, and they had made their way downstairs to check out.

When the Manager saw them step off the staircase (Phryne had once confessed a dislike of elevators that Jack had found rather amusing, so the two of them were in the habit of avoiding them) he hurried across the lobby to insert himself behind the counter. The Honourable Miss Fisher was a loyal customer, who spent with abandon, and although she might be a little… unconventional… she was yet to become entangled in anything as scandalous as some of their recent clientele of the political persuasion. She was beautifully dressed as always, but the Inspector – the manager was impressed with the man's appearance. He was also impressed with the way he held himself, as if he had worn the expensive threads every day of his life.

He greeted them with enthusiasm, "Miss Fisher! Inspector!"

"Actually, Mr Wentworth," she responded to him with glee, as she slipped the glove from her left hand, and thrust it towards him, "it's Inspector and Mrs Fisher-Robinson!" He was a man practised in responding to whatever the hotel's clients asked of him, or confided in him, but he was unable to conceal his astonishment at her statement. Despite her apparent attachment to the Inspector in the last year or so, he had never imagined such a thing might occur. The policeman had certainly fallen on his feet; no doubt he would not be in that profession for much longer. Why hadn't he heard this particularly juicy piece of gossip before? He looked between the two of them "I… wasn't aware that you had married…"

"Oh, no, it was only yesterday!" she beamed at him, and the Inspector looked on with his usual reserved amusement.

"Congratulations! If only I had known… We could have–"

Phryne cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, so he brought the conversation back to business. "Well… if you'd like to take a seat in the lounge… with a complimentary drink, of course… and look over this…" and he pushed the leather folio towards them, "I'll be with you shortly; in the meantime I'll have our records updated to reflect the change of name."

Phryne gave him an authoritative nod, slid the folio across the counter to Jack, and took his arm as they headed to the lounge. They sat, and Phryne quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked at him over the rim of her glass as he perused the charges with feigned nonchalance – it wasn't only the most popular hotel in the city, but also the most expensive. "You'll get used to it soon enough…" She passed him a blank cheque from her handbag, and he pulled his fountain pen from his inside jacket pocket; and had to think before he signed…

Working on the opposite side of the desk, Jack had always considered that those in the legal profession were something of a waste of space. Now, however, he had learned the true value of someone like Felix. The man held not only great power, but also great responsibility. Although she made herself well aware of everything that he did on her behalf, Phryne trusted in him to manage everything from her dealings with Welfare over Jane, to her business deals, investments, and her banking – as well as fixing things up if she were in a spot of bother with the law.

Felix had already lodged the necessary documents for Jack yesterday afternoon. Jack knew from experience that the issue of paperwork from any government department was numbingly slow. However, Felix had assured them both that he had an 'in' with some of those he worked most regularly with, and that the confirmation would certainly reach him, and that the bank would then have everything to hand, by the time any cheques written now were checked for signatures.

When she had first broached the subject, he had thought it ridiculous. He had never supposed that she would want to be the second 'Mrs Robinson', a constant reminder of his past life with Rosie, but in the privacy of his own thoughts he had had to admit that the thought that she might not want his name at all, and simply become 'Mrs Fisher', had hurt. Fisher-Robinson had seemed an acceptable compromise to him, and would mean that she wouldn't lose her own identity, but he had been loathe to suggest it. Sitting in his lap, with her fingers curled around his neck, she had been the one to start the discussion.

She had also considered it the best option, but he had been shocked when she had taken it a step further, and suggested that he could also change his name; people did it all the time – well, not all the time, but it wasn't unheard of in rich men marrying into richer (or titled) families, so why not him? There was nothing at all to prevent him; he could be Mickey Mouse if he wanted to. Well, perhaps someone at the Registry Office might find grounds to object to that, but there was no law preventing him from becoming whomever he chose. After all, names were changed every day because people no longer wanted the name they were born with, they wanted to escape their past, or they were looking for a brighter future.

In fact, although he had done his best not to show it, he had been mildly outraged by her proposition – why on earth would he want to do that? – and the discussion had been abandoned for the evening. Which was not to say that it hadn't grated on him all night. The next day, he had closed his office door to give it some thought over lunch, and when he had thought about it – REALLY thought about it – he had realised that he was being stupid. Every day women GAVE UP their names, without any apparent option (as far as society was concerned anyway), and lost a small part of themselves; even their entire family line if they were the last. If he and Phryne were both to change to Fisher-Robinson, they would be united in name like other couples, and each would take on a little of the other's identity – wasn't that what marriage was about? And Robinson-Fisher didn't have quite the same ring to it…

It wouldn't actually be that difficult for either of them to make the transition… well, especially him. He would need to have his name changed on official documents, but for the most part he could still refer to himself as Jack Robinson – he wouldn't even need to have his door signage changed. Phryne had suggested that even a change to his signature would be easy to accomplish – from J. Robinson. to J. F-Robinson. For her part, Phryne probably couldn't apply the same rule, but she could go by the name 'Mrs Fisher' whenever it was convenient. It would certainly make things easier for everyone they knew, AND would give them a little separation where work was concerned; it wouldn't hurt for people NOT to know that the police detective and the private detective were connected.

IF they were still able to get away with working together… Phryne had assured him that the prospect of not solving cases together would be upsetting, but not relationship-ending, at this point in their lives together. After all, if he were told, in no uncertain terms, that she was to be kept away, there was nothing to prevent the two of them discussing things in their own private time. Or, he could leave the constabulary and become a private detective himself. Or, they could move to Timbuktu. Or, they could both start an entirely new profession together. She had always thought that she would make an excellent brothel madam, in a proper, high-end establishment like some of the ones she'd seen in Paris, where the girls were happy and well cared for and considered it a real career… and Jack would be excellent for security and finances. Hah! He'd put a stop to that train of thought before she could take it any further – as much as he was willing to take a leap of faith in her company, the gap between police officer and peddler of vice was a stretch too far…

But the remembrance of that conversation made him smile as he capped his pen, and closed the folio on the list of charges and the barely-dry cheque; she really would make a good madam…

With all of Mr Butler's skill, the Manager, Mr Wentworth, appeared from nowhere, whisked the folio from the table, and disappeared again. He re-appeared a few minutes later brandishing a copy of the paid account, completed at speed in the flourished handwriting of some well-trained clerk. It was addressed to: Insp. & Mrs. J. Fisher-Robinson. Some months later he would be surprised, and rather delighted, when he had opened the album of photographs that chronicled their new life as a family, and an envelope containing the account had dropped from where it was pressed between the pages. She had kept it; their first piece of correspondence as husband and wife…

Phryne had let him drive, (Let him? Yes… He would always think of the Hispano as her car) and they had ridden in companionable silence to collect Mrs Stanley from her own residence on the way home to theirs. She enquired politely as to their time since she had bade them goodbye yesterday, and they answered, just as politely, that it had been wonderful, despite eschewing the Scenic Railway in favour of Fitzroy Gardens. Jack was sure that he saw her actually breathe a sigh of relief.

He helped her from the car with a polite "Mrs Stanley", and she had fixed him with a rather penetrating gaze. "My dear boy… I expect… that you should probably call me 'Aunt'."

He had considered for the briefest of moments, before nodding and giving her a reserved smile. "Very well… but I expect… that you should probably call me 'Jack'." She returned his nod and smile, and that had been that.

Inside the house, they had found everyone else already waiting in the parlour with an air of expectancy (Phryne might have embellished the time they would arrive, just to be sure that everyone would be there). Even Hugh was present, as he was not due on shift until 6:00 pm, and Dot had not thought that her mistress would mind him coming for lunch if the others were to be there. Phryne had removed her ring in the car, and it was in Jack's left trouser pocket as they made their way into the room.

They were going to have to get this over with quickly; he had already received several surprised comments on his attire. Usually, for some unknown reason, he and Phryne gravitated towards each other so that he was to her right. Now, she moved to his right side, he surreptitiously passed her the ring, and she slid her left hand up the back of his jacket as they stood together. Everyone sensed the moment and turned to look at her, and she started with enthusiasm, "Yes, something amazing has happened, and we thought it might be fun to share it with all of you now…"

Mac had been looking closely at both of them, and she suddenly interrupted, "Oh. My. God… You're engaged!"

"No, no, no…" Phryne laughed and waved her hand in the air. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mac, but we are not engaged… In fact… we're already married!" and she revealed the hand that she'd been struggling to keep at Jack's back.

xoxox


	17. Chapter 17

xoxox

The room exploded with squeals of delight, excited jumping, laughter and hugs. Jane was absolutely beside herself. A string of profanity left Bert's mouth, although nobody seemed to care, and Cec managed "Strewth!"

Phryne was glowing with excitement, and she enthusiastically received hugs and kisses from everyone in the room – even Hugh, who went more than a little red. Dottie might be his girl, but there was no denying that Miss Fisher (or he supposed it was Mrs Robinson now) was dangerously attractive, and even kissing her sweetly-scented cheek seemed almost like being given permission to do something previously forbidden. And his superior, and her new husband, was looking on with knowing and amused eyes.

For his part, Jack received hearty congratulations with a little less of his usual reserved detachment; handshakes from the gentlemen, and a kiss to the cheek from the ladies. Mac had even gone so far as to fling an arm around his neck, and whisper "You crafty dog!" into his ear; he smiled back at her smugly. However, he had to admit to her that it had not even been his idea, and that had started the general conversation around the room about Phryne's proposal, the keeping of the secret, and the events of yesterday. As the chatter began (over sandwiches and champagne) they also had to cut into the story to explain the new naming convention – before everyone became confused over what they should be calling Phryne. She laughingly explained that it didn't matter if they accidentally called her 'Miss' – after all with the hasty addition of 'es', anyone hearing 'Miss-es Fisher' would just think it was a drawn-out 'Mrs Fisher'.

Both her aunt and Mr Butler were a little taken aback by the abbreviated names each would be casually using, but Phryne had pointed out that Jack didn't mind her dropping his name in that context, and that she certainly didn't expect him to have to say 'Detective-Inspector Jack Fisher-Robinson' every time he introduced himself – it might be a bit of a mouthful (especially as he tried to suck in lungfuls of air after chasing down a suspect).

Mac had to disappear for an hour or so to check on a mother whose abdominal occupant was stubbornly refusing to make an entrance, but otherwise the ten of them whiled away the afternoon in pleasant conversation (made all the merrier by the bubbles).

Jane's question caught them all unawares, and caused Phryne to almost choke on her champagne.

"So… are you and Jack going to have a baby now?"

Dead. Silence. Even Prudence, who had a shocked reprimand on her tongue, had realised that it was not her place to say anything, and kept it to herself. Jack blinked slowly, and hastily brought his glass to his lips as he looked at Phryne.

Jane filled the void, "You know, just like the song, '…First comes the love, then comes the marriage…'"

Phryne had now managed to compose herself, and she laughed gently, looked at Jack, and then back to Jane. "Uh… well… no," and she laughed again, this time teasingly, "no, there won't be any babies!"

"Oh…" she sounded a little disappointed, "Why not?"

"Well… you know… uh… babies aren't really my thing… They're so small… and red… they cry, and you have to feed them, and look after them, and entertain them… I'd be a terrible mother to a baby!"

Jane appeared satisfied with Phryne's explanation, but also just a little confused "But it wouldn't always be a baby… and you're a good mother to me…"

Jack felt it was time to step in to Phryne's rescue; she WAS a good mother to Jane, but she shouldn't have to explain her inner feelings on this subject to a sixteen year old, and especially in front of an audience. And besides… "Jane–" he reached an arm out and she came and stood huddled next to him. He struggled for a moment, as everyone looked on. "You want to be a doctor," she nodded, "so I'm sure that you will understand this… Some people… for all sorts of reasons… just can't… uh…" How was he going to phrase this? She was a very intelligent girl, he was sure that she wasn't entirely ignorant of the facts of life, and she was already well into reading the medical texts that Mac loaned her on occasion, so he went with the clinical "…are incapable of reproducing… Apparently…" he looked her straight in the eye, "I'm one of those people…"

"Oh…" there were a few raised eyebrows around the room, and a myriad of emotions crossed Phryne's face. She was thankful for his intervention, sad for him, proud of him, and ashamed that he had felt he had to expose himself in this way, in front of everyone. Bert gave Jack a solemn nod; it took a lot of guts for a man to admit something like that… but to a girl?... in a room full of people? He had come to respect the Inspector over time, but the man had just gone up a few notches as far as he was concerned, and he was in no doubt that Cec would agree.

"So," Jane went on, "does that make you sad?"

Jack didn't need to think about the answer. "There was a time when it did… I always thought I would be a father… but I became used to the idea that I wouldn't… And now… I have you!" She grinned up at him delightedly as he bent to kiss the top of her head. He stroked his hand across her hair, and looked at Phryne, before going on, "Are you horribly disappointed?"

Jane laughed, "No! Miriam's baby sister cries ALL the time, and Miriam says she hates her, and her mother hardly pays any attention to her any more… but I just thought that it might be nice… to have a brother or a sister someday…"

Phryne swallowed past the lump in her throat, and jumped up to join her family. She started hesitantly, "Jack and I haven't spoken about this… so I hope he doesn't mind…" she looked at him pleadingly, "but… there are a LOT of other children like you… who just need someone to come along and give them a helping hand… so maybe… MAYBE… we could do that… some time…" she grimaced at Jack over Jane's head, and he knew that she was already regretting her words; he wouldn't hold her to them. She continued, "But not now! So you might be all grown up by then…" and she hastily added "And I'm not making any promises!"

Jane was happy with that, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that the conversation was over – they could all agree that it had been one of the most awkward situations that any of them had been party to in recent memory.

Very late that night, Jack was sitting up in bed, and Phryne had just sashayed back into the room after returning a magazine to the upstairs parlour, when Jane appeared, in her robe, in the doorframe. They were both a little surprised to see her, but Jack patted the covers, and the two ladies of his life came to join him.

She seemed nervous, and unsure of herself, so he prompted her to snuggle up beside him, Phryne jumped in to squeeze up and rest her chin on Jane's shoulder, and he put his left arm around them both, whilst Phryne's snaked across their fronts. Jane might be sixteen, and very grown up at that, but really, she was still a girl, and right now she seemed to need her parents' physical comfort. She started to chew the end of her plait, before thinking better of it, and just twisted it between her fingers instead. Neither of them wanted to push her, so they waited for her to reveal whatever it was that was worrying her. Jack wondered, briefly, what Aunt P would say if she could see the three of them in the bed, huddled up like penguins. He shared a look with Phryne over Jane's head 'Do you know what this is about?' 'No, do you?' 'No'.

"So… Now that you're married…" Her voice was wavering, moisture had appeared in her eyes, and Phryne was starting to look very concerned. "It's just… well, you've both changed your names… and I know that you can't adopt me because my mother needs to still be my mother…" she continued on raggedly, as she turned to look up at Jack, and the expression on her face left him feeling crushed, "but can't I change my name too? Then we could be like a REAL family! I'm tired of trying to explain to people…"

She sobbed, and Phryne looked at Jack, absolutely stricken. "Oh, Jane… I'm so sorry… We should have spoken to you… It should have been the first thing… the most important thing…" She huddled even closer, and moved to rest her forehead on the side of Jane's head. "Now that we're married, Jack will be your guardian too… Felix – you remember Felix? (Jane nodded) – well, we've already signed the paperwork – he has already lodged it – yesterday – it was one of the first things we did after we were married… Wasn't it Jack?"

"Yes… the very first thing, I'm sure… And if you WANT to change your name," he looked at Phryne for reassurance, and she nodded, "then I'm sure that it won't be a problem."

"Really?" She looked at each of them through watery eyes, and Phryne said "Of course!" Jack hugged them both even tighter to him, and Jane relaxed and a smile broke across her face. After a minute someone suggested cocoa, and despite his mock protests that he was the least skilled in this area, he removed himself to the kitchen, leaving his best girls giggling under the covers.

When he returned with the chocolatey beverage, it was Phryne who sent him a melty, huge-eyed look, and he knew that some other revelation was coming. She looked both elated and a little scared, and he was dying to know what was going on. When they had settled back in, cups in hand (with minimum of spillages), and Dot's latest batch of biscuits making crumbs in the bedding, Phryne had said, "Jane wants to ask you something…"

Suddenly they both seemed nervous, Jane even a little embarrassed, but she forged ahead regardless "Well, people who don't know me think it's strange enough already, when we're together, and I call you Inspector and Miss Fisher… or if they hear me call you Jack and Miss Phryne… And if we're going to be a proper family… I thought…...well… my mother will always be my mother… but Miss Phryne is my mother too… And, I don't want to call them both 'mother' so I thought Miss Phryne could be my 'Mamma'…" Jack looked at Phryne and saw that she was trying to smile, but her watery eyes gave away the full extent of her emotions. If he were a betting man, he could have put good money on the fact that she would never have expected to have the maternal feelings that were welling up in her right now.

Jane wasn't finished, "I know it's a little bit 'Pride and Prejudice'" she rolled her eyes and Phryne managed a laugh, "but she's already got the accent," now Phryne looked at her in mock outrage, "so nobody would think twice about it… But if she's going to be my Mamma, then I suppose you'll have to be my Papa– I mean… if you want to…" She reached out and took a couple of his fingers in her hand, and grinned "I know that a stowaway thief isn't much of a daughter for a policeman, but would you like to be my Papa?"

He felt like all of the air had been sucked from his body, and he looked at Phryne, aware that his lips had parted, but he was unable to speak. She gave him a reassuring smile, he blinked slowly, and cleared his throat. Jane was looking at him expectantly, but also as if she were worried that she had said the wrong thing – he had to say something. So, he took a deep breath and said "I would be honoured to be your Papa, Jane."

She had finished her cocoa, and had returned to her own bed soon after. Given Phryne's stillness the night before, Jack wasn't sure how she was going to react once they were alone. However, it seemed that she had returned to her usual form, and she put her overwrought emotions to excellent use in ravishing him thoroughly.

The next morning, at their first meeting of the day, Jane looped an arm around his waist, smiled shyly into his shoulder and said "Good morning, Papa–", dragging out the last syllable in a parody of Phryne's posh accent. He wondered how many times she would have to repeat it over the hours/days/weeks before his heart stopped hammering at the word…

On Monday evening Jack had just returned home from work, when Phryne was astounded at Mr Butler's pronouncement that "Lady Fisher is on the telephone…" She hadn't received an answering cable from her parents so far, and she had been unsure whether they were simply waiting to be sure she would be home to receive it, or whether, in fact, they were upset and/or angered by her announcement. She dragged Jack with her, and sat herself on his lap so that that could both listen.

"Mother?"

"Phryne!..." the voice was a little faint, "Isn't this rather odd, speaking to each other from another continent? But I told your father that we simply had to telephone… I'm so…" Phryne wasn't sure if the line had dropped out or if her mother had stopped speaking.

It was strange for Jack, hearing his mother-in-law's voice for the first time, having never met her. However, he found that it was exactly as he had expected; the accent pronounced and upper class, just like her sister, Prudence, but a little higher, and without the imperious tone.

"Can you hear me, darling?"

"Yes, Mother…" Phryne's voice sounded a little strange to his ears, and he thought perhaps that she might also have found it a little strange, listening to her mother's voice, having not seen her in person for more than two years. "Jack can hear you too…"

"Oh! How wonderful! Hello, Jack!"

He returned her greeting, and a laugh not unlike Phryne's came back down the line. "Gosh! You do have a handsome voice! Now at least I have a voice in mind to go with your photograph."

He felt himself turn a little red, and mouthed at Phryne "You sent your mother my photograph?" She shrugged, and gave him a sheepish grin.

Her mother went on "Well, the operator did warn me that we might lose the connection at any time, so I suppose that I ought to get to the point… We–" even Jack heard the emphasis placed on the word, and could image Lady Fisher looking pointedly at her husband standing beside her, "just wanted to congratulate you both. We were so pleased to receive your cable… although I have to tell you that your aunt sent a much longer one." Phryne and Jack both chuckled as her mother continued, "Of course she had already written a notice for The Argus, but she just wanted our approval to have it printed… I sent ours off to the papers here today, but I have to confess it was a little strange writing it, having never met YOU Jack, let alone your parents!"

"Oh, Mother, you'll love them! Well, you'll love Jack too, obviously… In fact, I'm quite confident that you're going to absolutely adore him!" and she turned to rub noses with the man in question, who was reddening further by the second.

"I'm sure that I will! I'm so looking forward to meeting you, Jack. Will you both be coming over for Guy's wedding?"

Phryne groaned; her cousin's nuptials had already been postponed once. "IF their wedding ever actually goes ahead then we MIGHT make an appearance, but it depends on the timing… Jack can't just take a few months off on a whim..."

"Of course not…"

"HOWEVER," she squeezed his hand, "we will be coming over at some stage in the next twelve months or so, so we'll certainly see you then."

"Oh, how lovely! Will you go to Paris?"

"OF COURSE… I'm dying for Paris…" she rolled her eyes at her own unfortunate use of words in Jack's presence, as she and her mother started discussing the planned trip. Jack just felt guilty; if it weren't for him she could flit off to her favourite city at any time she chose… Not that he would prevent her from doing that now if she wished… But he would miss her terribly if she did…

"Well," Lady Fisher came to a sudden realisation, "I expect we ought to disconnect soon… I'm sure that there are other people waiting to use the line… I tried to get your father to speak to you…"

They both heard "…can keep that bloody contraption away from me…"

"but you know how he feels about the telephone. I'm sure that we'll speak again soon, now that we can do this, but you WILL write, won't you?" Phryne promised that she would put pen to paper that very week, wedding photograph included, and her mother said a rather hesitant goodbye to them both before the line went dead.

They agreed that it had gone rather better than Phryne had expected, so that was her family down…

They had been invited to dine with Jack's family the following Sunday, and, the ring once again safely in Jack's pocket, they gave Jane specific instructions that the marriage, and anything associated, was not to be mentioned to ANYONE there before they had had the chance to broach the subject themselves. It had not occurred to any of them to forgo the new names, so his family had reacted with astonishment when, as they sat in the parlour, Jane had appeared from the back verandah where the children had eaten lunch, to throw an arm around Jack's neck and say, in a wheedling tone, "Papaaaa… Mary and Joan are going to the creek to catch tadpoles – may I go too?"

Of course he had said yes, she had made an attempt at ruffling his hair, and then retreated, giggling, to where the other girls were waiting in the hall, tins in hand.

"Papa?" his father had queried, and then it had all come out – proposal, secrets, wedding, AND Jane's request – and Phryne had sent Jack to the car, where she had secreted two bottles of champagne in an icebox, earlier that day. While the ladies gushed over the ring, and the photo they had brought with them to be added to the family collection, Jack had received the expected grief over a) his never-imagined rise into the upper class, and b) the fact that he'd gone utterly soft and taken on his wife's name. But all in all it was not much worse than the ribbing he'd received at the station upon his return on Monday (Hugh had been unable to contain his excitement on the Saturday night shift; not that Jack minded – it saved him having to tell people himself). And nothing to what he was expecting from the lads down at the club.

Then there was the rest of the world at large…

xoxox


	18. Chapter 18

xoxox

Their first reception party had been one of Mrs Stanley's soirées for select members of Melbourne society. As promised, Phryne had given her aunt free reign to organise a celebration that met her high expectations. It had been hastily arranged, but Phryne could not deny that her aunt had gone to a lot of trouble and expense for their benefit – the food, the decorations, the entertainment.

Phryne had been stunning, as always, in the same outfit that she had been wearing when she had asked him to marry her, and Jack had been strangely comforted by that, in those rooms full of people that had always seemed so far removed from him. As far as it was possible, he now had to become used to being one of them.

He had been dressed, diamonds in place, in a very smart suit; Phryne described the look as 'casually formal'. He had been without spats, or gloves, but his trousers were sharply creased, his lapels glossy against the black of his tailcoat, contrasted sharply by his ivory waistcoat, white tie, and crisp shirtfront. He had found that most of the other gentlemen were similarly dressed, although the older ones tended to have spats, and he saw some very elaborate signet rings. Jack had never worn a ring of any sort; when she was designing hers, he and Phryne had briefly discussed whether he wanted a wedding band, and he had decided against it. Although men had started wearing wedding bands during the war, and the concept was gradually increasing in popularity, it was still rather unusual, and he was not a man who liked to draw attention to himself, particularly in his line of work; besides he would never need a metal band to remind him of what he had.

Despite having no say whatsoever in the event, they had found there was nothing actually wrong with it at all, and surprisingly, they had both rather enjoyed themselves. During the pre-dinner cocktails, Aunt P had shepherded them around the room, made introductions where necessary (by now, very few were required), and generally interfered in various conversations. She might not have wanted a policeman in her family, but now that she had one, she was going to make the most of it. She had proclaimed the virtues of public service (somebody had to do it, after all), made it very clear that he was a SENIOR Detective Inspector with numerous officers working under him, had given details of some of the high-profile cases that he had worked, and he had been rather amused to hear her say that who knew, he might be Chief Commissioner one day… He had given an internal eye-roll – that might be taking things a bit far…

All-in-all they had had a pleasant night, although Jack had been somewhat discomfited by one 'kindly' lady's assurance that, as he had chosen to remain in his occupation (to everyone's amazement), he was now surely the wealthiest police officer in the country; if not the world; after all, men from privileged backgrounds simply did not go into public service.

In the last year he had found that the wealthy really did not like speaking of wealth, as a general rule, but on occasion… and when it wasn't their own situation they were referring to… He had been astonished when the lady in question intimated that she was under the impression that Phryne's personal wealth far surpassed Mrs Stanley's; she looked to him for confirmation, but, firstly, he didn't know, and secondly, he wouldn't tell her if he did. It had seemed unlikely, though… Aunt P had a huge house, on extensive grounds, and all the attendant staff, her car and driver, her horses and Mr Brown. She supported two grown sons – one because he was incapable of supporting himself, and one because he simply had no desire to find an occupation. Apart from her share in the mine (and chalet), which had not been sold after all, from what Phryne had said Jack was sure that Edward had left her with other sound investments.

Money was not something that he wanted to discuss with Phryne, so he hadn't asked outright, just mentioned the woman's comments when they were recapping the party the next day. He might as well have asked whether she was planning on wearing a hat that day; she just said "Well, yes…" and took another bite of her croissant.

'Well, yes' – what did that mean? She had appeared surprised by his question; she had simply taken it for granted that by now he was aware of the extent of her fortune, if not the exact details; after all, in the time since their wedding day, he had signed any number of documents relating to 'her' assets becoming 'their' assets, and Felix had even arranged new wills for each of them.

He had patiently explained to her that, yes, that was true, however none of the papers he had signed had been specific; it had been a matter of Felix saying 'This will allow me to have the property titles amended…' and 'This and this will allow me to liaise with the bankers…' Even as far as the wills were concerned, it had been 'This will go to Jane… This will go to Mac… This will go to Dot… and ALL OTHER ASSETS to be…' It wasn't that he hadn't read what he had signed; the details simply hadn't been there. He had been busy with work, Phryne had been busy with those, and other, preparations, on top of her usual calendar, and as he was the one coming into the relationship with nothing (or close to), he had trusted that Phryne and Felix knew exactly what was to be done, and that he would catch up in time.

At that, Phryne had felt rather silly and quite ashamed. She had sheepishly explained that what the woman at the party had said was true, and she had immediately resolved to make him familiar with THEIR financial circumstances as soon as possible. She had called on Felix, and over the next several weeks he had accumulated copies of any number of documents, and compiled a file (thankfully summarised) for their perusal.

Jack's mind reeled. Now that they were married, the annual income she had received from her father would cease, however, it wouldn't matter at all. She might not be a brilliant mathematician, but she was well read, took her time to understand everything, and lived according to the principle that if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. From the very beginning she had shrewdly and diversely invested her income, and it had compounded year by year.

She owned shares in food, beer and tobacco, and a variety of businesses in which she had a more personal interest – aviation, an art gallery, a carnival? (he should have guessed). She held the title to her own apartment in London (which her father had bought for her when she had finally returned from France, and they had realised that living under the same roof was not going to work any longer), as well as one other that had been let, and since coming to Australia she had bought 221B, three tenanted homes in middle-class suburbs, a commercial building in the city centre, and a warehouse near the docks (where she apparently kept furniture and artwork that Jack didn't know she had).

On top of all that, Raymond's picture 'The Bride of Babylon' had exceeded all expectations, and after his home and theatre mortgages had been paid out, Phryne, as the principal investor, had still walked away with a very tidy profit.

Back when she had first offered him that weekly income to supplement his own salary, he had thought it rather a lot of money, but now… Now he saw that it was no more than pocket change to her… if that. He had even been concerned that if her spending on him increased after they were married, his presence in her life might have a negative impact on her own spending, but what he had seen in those papers had more than convinced him that he would scarcely make a dent. Sure, she might not be on par with people like the entrepreneurs of shipping or oil that you read about, but still… she had done very nicely for herself.

She was most apologetic when she had explained that, with everything else, the one thing she HADN'T thought of at the time they were married was his weekly income; she promised that it would be put to rights immediately – surely he should be drawing as much as she, if not more? He actually felt light-headed as she took him through her 'petty cash' expenses. Would he ever become used to this?

Phryne had overruled Aunt P and insisted that they pay the bulk of expenses for their second party, and with this new knowledge, he was glad that she had…

It was, thankfully, a surprisingly warm evening in November, as Phryne had wanted a fun, but extravagant, outdoor affair.

There was to be no staid, sit-down meal with a seating arrangement – all of the food was either finger-food, or could be eaten either sitting or standing at one of the tables that were scattered across the lawn. She had taken inspiration from both the carnival and her travels, and there were strings of lights, candles in coloured lanterns, and bright flowers. There was a dance floor, and lively music, a cocktail bar, plenty of champagne. And the children had not been forgotten – there were ponies to be ridden, little cakes, iced and decorated, and bottles of sodas with waxy straws twisted in multi colours.

Mr B, Dot, Bert and Cec were under strict instructions that they were not to lift a finger – this party was a celebration to be enjoyed with everyone, and all labour was to be supplied.

Phryne had not wanted any of their varied family and friends to feel out of place, so she had simply specified that her guests' dress was to be their best – whatever that may be for them. The women were all in their best dresses; even Mac was in the beaded, ankle-length number that she occasionally wore to the opera, or fundraising benefits. Phryne had been very generous in taking all of the 'family girls' into town for new outfits – Jane, Dot, Alice, his mother, his sisters, and even his sister-in-law. Jack was wearing the same outfit he had worn to Aunt P's soirée, and the other men present ranged from tailcoats like him, down to their Sunday best suits. Under Dot and Alice's coaxing, Bert and Cec had even been convinced into the 'penguin suits' they had worn to wait at Guy and Isabella's engagement party.

Phryne was wearing a dress she had ordered from the House of Fleuri especially for this evening. It was midnight blue, beaded extensively in blue, black, and silver, and dark-dyed feathers fluttered gently from a sparse beginning at her chest, becoming denser towards her feet, and trailing out behind her as she moved. The front dipped just below her collarbones, meeting the fabric of the back at fluttery cap sleeves, and the entire expanse of her back was visible, but transected by strings of beads in an intricate pattern. The same beads and feathers that adorned her dress sparkled on the comb that was threaded into her hair. She wore blue satin sandals, matched to her dress, with heels low enough to dance comfortably, and apart from her ring, her only other jewellery, once again, were the carved jade earrings he had given her.

They hadn't been completely in control of proceedings; Jane had told them, in no uncertain terms, that their entrance to the party was being taken out of their hands. She had come into the house to advise them that everyone had arrived (the noise coming from the lawn certainly pointed to that), so they had linked hands, and followed her as bidden. She had run on ahead, quieted everyone, and announced them. To Phryne's delight, they had entered their reception, to much clapping and whistling and cheering, on a path of white rose petals that the ladies had spent some time creating, earlier that afternoon.

They had talked and laughed their way, separately and together, through all of their guests, who were as varied as a group of people could be. From the Freemans, to Samson, her childhood friend Raymond, the Lins, and the inaugural recipient of the Fisher Research Scholarship, Beatrice Mason. Jack's entire family was in attendance – siblings, nieces and nephews, aunts & uncles, cousins… and the closest of his friends. Many of these people that Jack had invited had never even met Phryne, and not all had witnessed first-hand the change in him since she had come into his life; they all marveled at her, and the obvious bond between them.

Even Jack's grandmother was present. His father's mother was eighty-seven and sharp as a tack. Her wit had always been a little biting for Rosie, and the two women had never bonded, but Phryne took perverse enjoyment in needling the old woman (probably in much the same way as he did to Aunt P), and in a strange way they seemed to adore each other. She had told Phryne that she was too old for a brand new dress, however she had gratefully accepted a rather extravagant floral, ribboned hairpiece, and had told Jack, with glowing eyes, how it reminded her of something she had worn as a young woman, when his grandfather had taken her to their first ball.

Between hugs and handshakes, talking, and eating, Phryne and Jack had danced, with each other, and with any number of their family and guests; Jack had taken great pleasure in whisking Jane around the floor, and a lump had formed in his throat when he had spotted Phryne dancing with Arthur. They had placed the first cut into a beautifully decorated cake, laughed at some outrageous toasts, and exchanged many flirtatious glances with each other over the course of the night.

But most of the guests would agree that the highlight of the night was in front of them now; the fireworks that the Lins had brought with them (along with several pyrotechnics experts); a Catherine wheel, fountains, and the huge flowers to be launched high into the darkness. Jack had not been sure how he would feel when they started – even now, more than a decade after the war, it was too much for a lot of men; an unexpected reminder of the terrible lights and sounds that that torn through the night skies. It was supposed to be a bit of fun, but he WAS feeling tense…

Phryne knew how he felt – of course she did. Most of the women here couldn't possibly understand; in fact the thought would probably never cross their minds, but SHE had experienced it too, if not quite to the same extent as he had. He wondered how some of the other men felt about it – Bert, Cec, Vic Freeman. Phryne noticed his concerned glances in their directions, and said, "Don't worry, I've spoken to them. I think they'll be alright… how about you?" His arm was around her shoulders, and she leaned her cheek against his chest, and met his eyes as she rubbed a reassuring hand across his lower back.

He looked down at her beautiful face, lit by the brightly spinning wheel. She was truly special, and he couldn't imagine being without her now. How had he been so lucky? Frankly, before he had met her he had been a man in his prime, living his life, but just waiting for its eventual end in some long distant future. Now he had a family of his own, a new life, and the old one was like his shadow; always there, connected to him, but not a part of him.

At Phryne's side he had rediscovered his passion for his chosen occupation, in her arms he had regained his confidence, and become reacquainted with himself, and in her bed his nightmares had, for the most part, been chased away; and when they did come, he need only reach out, and she was always there. For him, those God-forsaken muddy fields seemed to exist in another time and place, but were also ever-present in his life. In the here and now, it somehow comforted him to realise, that although he hadn't known her then, in his very worst moments she had been out there somewhere, under that same French sky.

He supposed that he might never be completely at ease when fireworks lit the sky, but as he looked down at her he knew that during those times he would always have this moment; he bent his head to kiss his wife, and the colours and sounds became nothing more than a backdrop to the love that they shared.

xoxox


End file.
